


At the End of July

by D_OShae



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Other, Parody
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:48:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 79,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25629976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/D_OShae/pseuds/D_OShae
Summary: After surviving the perilous and deadly Bi-Wizard Tournament at Snogwarts that brought Harry and Neville together, they shuffle off to their homes for a miserable summer of separation. One adult, however, learns what is at stake and offers a brief respite. But is it?
Relationships: Augusta Longbottom & Neville Longbottom, Harry Potter/The Dursleys, Neville Longbottom/Harry Potter
Comments: 6
Kudos: 8





	1. Foreword

I got into an interesting conversation many years ago with some friends about whether a story could be heavily pornographic yet still hold merit on other literary grounds. It centered on a recent, at the time, public debate concerning obscenity and what might fall under that heading. Issues of community standards also got raised. Matters of taste, we decided, did not enter the arena due to the absolute subjective nature of taste. All in all, it proved a convoluted discussion, and the ideas intrigued me. The notions sat in the back of my head. Waiting.

About a decade after that, I got into another discussion regarding a similar topic. Someone asked me if slash fan fiction counted as literature (this took place shortly after my first foray into writing fan fiction), and I argued it did. We then debated what constituted artistic merit. Questions of character, plot, and setting got tossed around with literary devices, point of view, and themes. It gave me insight as to why the Supreme Court of the United States finds pornography such a difficult topic to wrangle in regard to legal aspects. What may be considered pornographic to one may lie inside the extreme fringe of artistic expression to another. Just read the works of Charles Bukowski (author of Women and Barfly) or watch the early films of John Waters. This discussion really got me to think.

After three more years of contemplating this knotty problem, I decided to see if I could write a piece of fan fiction that incorporated wholly pornographic elements that would intentionally shock people. Some of my non-fan fiction works definitely use sex and sexual situations as part of the narrative, but never as a central focus. I honestly cannot remember how it got started, perhaps I saw something on the internet, yet I suddenly thought the world of Harry Potter would be perfect for a sexual parody since the chance to offend "common decency" seemed exceptionally high. Not only that, but sexual subtexts lace the last four works of the series. Then, my brain coughed up what I thought to be a funny title.

It took me less than six weeks to write the whole of Harry Potter and the Loo of Desire, a parody of The Goblet of Fire. It literally (pun intended) opens with a frankly gratuitous pornographic scene. It also set the tone for the entire story. However, I wanted to stay true to the themes of the original work while turning it on its head in regard to sex and sexuality. I also tried to create a real story on the inside ranging far from the source material that, hopefully, would overshadow the ridiculous amounts of pornography. The three people who read it first said the piece worked as intended. It also happens to be very, very, very gay. Literally (and no pun intended).

After finishing The Loo of Desire, the characters and setting would not leave my head. By the time I got to end of original story, I managed to stumble on a few serious ideas and themes. It also gave me an inkling as to what captivated J.K. Rowling about the world of Harry Potter. I started to think more and more about how the events of The Loo of Desire would impact my alternative Harry Potter and those around him. In the course of mulling this over, the overt sexual elements started to fall to the wayside. I found myself staring down the figurative barrel of a narrative gun. I pulled the trigger and began to write. While still employing some elements of parody, it became far more serious on many levels.

This story, At the End of July, emerged just as quickly as the first parody piece. This only took a month and a couple of days to write. I became fascinated with exploring Harry's life in a setting outside of Hogwarts (I call it Snogwarts for comedic purposes). The complexities of his young life under such extraordinary circumstances in his upbringing, his school life, and the threats facing him never got fully explored in the original series of books. Yes, Rowling provided some glimpses, but kept glued to the central themes she created (except for that ruddy awful ending in The Deathly Hallows). I wanted to explore the wizarding world in which Harry would eventually live, and then to see it through his eyes complete with the other complications in his life. This proved extremely satisfying to write and not really pornographic.

Almost needless to say, I would never post Harry Potter and the Loo of Desire on a general fan fiction site. There are some nifty places on the web where one can find the story if one wishes to read it. While I tried to make this story as stand-alone as possible, it is mired in the events in The Loo of Desire. It is not absolutely critical for one to read Loo to enjoy this tale, and I think I give just enough exposition to make this story accessible. I tried to make the themes as universal as possible. It also happens to remain very, very, very gay.

Enjoy!

D. O'Shae  
30 July 2020


	2. Chapter 2

[The story take place following the school year described in Harry Potter and the Loo of Desire.]

Harry lay on his bed and stared at the ceiling. The temperature in his room climbed during the day because his aunt and uncle refused to turn the air conditioning to a decent setting. They seemed to think twenty-six Celsius to be a perfect temperature during the summer, but only fourteen during the winter. Thus, Harry wore as little clothing as possible, much to the disgust of his relatives. Simple shorts and a tee-shirt apparently showed too much skin for their liking. Given the fact Harry thought his uncle looked like a bipedal manatee and his cousin as one in training, along with an aunt constructed out of pretzel sticks, he could see why his normal shape and weight would offend them.

“Fuck me, but it’s hot,” he whispered to Hedwig who sat enjoying the only fan his uncle would let him use. Harry feared the hot conditions in his room would endanger his pet owl.

Harry desperately missed being at Snogwarts

The first week of his summer break got consumed with daily reminders of what his relatives expected of him. They demanded he start cooking breakfast exactly at seven each morning, followed by a thorough cleaning of the kitchen and dining area. After that he would be allowed a fifteen minute break to enjoy a glass of tap water. Then Harry would need to begin lunch for his aunt and cousin, although Dudley hardly ever stuck around for the meal. The corpulent boy would go traipsing off with his cronies, an ugly lot if Harry ever saw one, and not reappear until long after Uncle Vernon returned home. His aunt and uncle blamed their son’s behavior on Harry’s presence. His presence also got continuously blamed for one other important development that occurred two years before.

Uncle Vernon’s husband Lester left him and filed for divorce. Aunt Petunia’s wife Edith left her and filed for divorce. Harry could hardly blame the two, but it made for a routinely uncomfortable situation. The Dursleys now looked like a breeder family. Given the suspicions heaped around Dudley, it seemed their wont to blame Harry for all their ills instead of recognizing their tendency to be awful people. Hence, his life took on all the trappings of an ascetic without the desire to be one. However, his relatives routinely left his room alone as they seemed frightened of what they might find. Harry often hinted he brought dangerous items back from Snogwarts. Regardless, it amazed him how much worse life became in the Dursley house each succeeding year.

“Cripes, I miss him, Hedwig,” he said for the millionth time over the past seven weeks.

Harry wrapped his arms around his thinner body, rolled over on his side, and began to weep. Separation from Neville seemed the worst torture of all. He no longer possessed an appetite and usually ate one sparse meal a day. Even his aunt made mention of his dwindling weight while her son headed in the opposite direction. They even noticed his depressed mode, but seemed to take delight in it since Harry chose not to interact with them. He would do his chores and retire to his room, only to reemerge to do more work and disappear again. His Uncle Vernon even commented it might be the most pleasant summer they ever spent with Harry.

The only saving grace came in the fact owls knew how to reach him. Harry got a copy of The Daily Profit each day, as befitting the title, and it more or less kept him abreast of developments in the wizarding world. Lord Holdequart’s return still occupied a top spot, and Harry felt thankful for that. He got a letter every week from Hermione, but she followed the proscription against relating too many details. He only knew the basics of what she did. Ron sent him a total of one letter the entire time. What he decided to include might actually put any spies at a disadvantage since Harry could not make any sense of what his friend described. Finally, he got almost a letter a day from Neville. Neville withheld from verbosity, but the few short sentences he composed relayed his love and longing. Harry slept each night with the letters under his pillow, but it started to give him a kink in his neck.

“Little more than a month, Hedwig, and then we get to go back home,” he sniffed and told the owl.

Harry tacked a calendar he made on his wall. He marked off each day. One particular day, July 24, got circled to indicate the halfway point between leaving and returning to Snogwarts. It would seem odd to others, but Harry did not note his birthday. Instead, he highlighted the day before his in gold: Neville’s fifteen birthday. He planned ahead before they left school and got the Weasley twins to buy him a special gift for Neville. Harry would send it with the Hedwig who delivered Neville’s daily message. It seemed to be the one bright spot in his summer. It stunned him to realize it would be the very next day. Thus, he went about the final preparations in anticipation.

“What are you smiling about, boy?” Uncle Vernon sneered at him that evening during dinner.

Harry actually ate a little more than usual, and sat with a pleased look on his face.

“I didn’t poison you if that’s what you think,” Harry rejoined and tried to avoid taking pleasure from the shocked expressions on his relatives faces. “My boyfriend’s birthday is tomorrow, and I just like thinking he’ll have a good day.”

“You don’t have a boyfriend,” Dudley said and waved a fat hand around in the air as if dispersing one of his annoyingly frequent and smelly farts. “Who’d want to be your boyfriend? You look like a drowned rat.”

“Neville Longbottom,” he recited the name, and it filled him with warmth. “The only person who ever saw past everything that’s happened to me.”

“Get over yourself. That’s a stupid made up name and he doesn’t exist,” his cousin again dismissed the statements.

“Well, even if it is made up,” Harry said and barely controlled his anger, “at least I’m not dreaming about girls like some other boy in this house!”

The commotion that erupted around him only ceased when his Uncle Vernon banished Harry from the table. Since he already ate his fill and it meant he would be spared clean-up duty, he gladly departed. However, he took note of his cousin’s visage. Dudley looked worried and did not join in with berating Harry for spreading vile rumors. Harry more than suspected his cousin as he headed to his chambers.

In the early morning he arrived in the kitchen to find they saved the entire mess from the night before for him to clean. Harry needed to clean first before he could cook and serve. His aunt and uncle yelled at him the entire time for failing to complete his chores before he turned in for the evening. His argument they sent him to his room before he could fell on deaf ears. Thus, dressed in baggy clothes because he only received hand-me-downs from his portly cousin, he went about trying to put the dining area and kitchen in order. In the back of his mind he set a clock when the owl would arrive with Neville’s letter. It got him through the arduous task of cleaning, cooking, and cleaning again. He only ate a single piece of toast, save the crusts, and sipped a glass of water before heading to his room.

When the doorbell rang just at ten o’clock, Harry simply rolled over in his bed and clamped his pillow over his head. He guessed one of either Uncle Vernon’s or Aunt Petunia’s odious colleagues stopped by. He did not think they ever made any real friends.

“Blasted, worthless boy,” Uncle Vernon grumbled when Harry neither answered the door nor the summons to do so.

The fat man waddled from the sitting room to the small foyer, managing to break a sweat at the same time, and pulled open the front door just as the bell rang a second again. The shout he planned died on his lips.

“Mr. Vernon Dursley?” Asked an older woman dressed in the strangest attire the man ever saw. Ten seconds passed in silence before she repeated: “You are Vernon Dursley?”

“Uh… yes. Why?” Uncle Vernon blurted.

The woman who wore an egregiously out-of-date skirt suit in a lavender and rose tartan scheme gave the man a fierce stare as if questioning his question. Uncle Vernon ignored her clothing, including the small fox collar that appeared to be alive for all intents and purposes, and kept his eyes fixed on the hat on her head. The steel-gray hair, apparently pulled into a tight bun, sat under wide-brimmed and faint pink fedora upon which a swooping red-shouldered hawk rested and, to the man’s amazement, blinked. The woman, however, did not blink.

“I am Augusta Longbottom,” the woman sonorously announced.

Uncle Vernon held onto the door and continued to study her peculiar attire.

“You do not recognize my name?” She imperiously asked when he did not respond.

“No. Why should I?” The man counter-inquired as he contemplated poking the bird to see if might actually be alive.

“I am the grandmother of Neville Longbottom, you’re nephew’s boyfriend! Does that clarify the matter now?”

“Wait a moment. You meant to say Harry wasn’t full of tosh when he made up that ridiculous name?” Uncle Vernon replied, and he brushed aside the woman’s annoyed tone.

“I beg your pardon!” Mrs. Longbottom exhaled the words like a fire-breathing dragon. “I will have you know the Longbottom’s are a famed and honored pure-blood family!”

“Pure-blood? Are you some kind of canine breed?”

Augusta Longbottom goggled in absolute bewilderment. One could see she became accustomed to immediate deference to her name. That a muggle, let alone one as boorish and fat as Vernon Dursley, would fail to pay her due accord and respect never entered her imagination. Her eyes narrowed and she squared her shoulders. Both the fox and the hawk seemed nervous. Uncle Vernon remained completely unaffected by the rapid change in her demeanor.

“We are one of the oldest established wizarding families in England,” the woman said in such a pointed way it could stab a person to death.

Uncle Vernon heard only one word. Upon hearing it, he slammed the door in the woman’s face. His breathing started to come in short pants and more sweat beaded on his forehead. He backed away from the entry even while the doorbell began to ring again. Seconds later Aunt Petunia galloped out of the kitchen and stood next to her brood-sire.

“Vernon? What is going on out here?” She crossly queried as she reached for the doorknob.

Uncle Vernon slapped her hand away and grumbled: “There’s a witch on the other side!”

“A what?”

“A witch! A witch! One of Harry’s kind of people!”

“Here? At our house? Why?” Aunt Petunia shrieked in fear.

Harry heard the commotion below, but he paid it no attention. In his mind he and Neville lay on a beach with a cool ocean breeze wafting over them while the sound of seabirds cried in the distance. He imagined clean, white sand under their bodies, reflecting the warm sun, and lightly toasting their skin. In the background a wizarding wireless unit softly played a song by one of his favorite magical musical groups. They sang of love in pure and simple terms. Harry sighed in longing and the noise in another part of the house disappeared.

“I don’t know why, but I bet the boy had something to do with it! Did you forget he threatened to poison us?” Uncle Vernon yammered, and his flabby chin and jowls swayed to and fro.

Aunt Petunia cast a skeptical look at the corpulent man, but she grew more worried when the doorbell ceased ringing. They both saw the outline of the woman through the frosted glass set in the door. The figure moved very little. Each hoped the terrifying shadow would just go away. Moments later they jumped as something metal clattered on the floor to their left. Uncle Vernon glanced down and saw one of the brass hinge pins rolling around. Seconds later another hit the tiling with a small clang. To his horror, he saw the last and third pin rise out of the hinge knuckles. Fear made him clutch Petunia and drag her away from the door.

The side of the door with the hinges soundlessly floated outward, except for the noise the knuckles made as they scraped against one another. Once the edge became free, the door swung open without the aid of a human hand. It propped itself up against the wall at the foot of the stairs. In the now completely open doorway the woman dressed in the mildly outlandish matching skirt and jacket with the fox trim and the bird of prey hat stood with a wand in her hand. This she placed it in a purse that matched the pale rose color of her dress and hat. She also appeared entirely furious. A lanky teenager stood next to her.

“Um, sorry, but my gran doesn’t like having doors shut in her face,” a tall, reasonably handsome young man said. Dressed in a white polo shirt, dark blue shorts, slightly grubby navy blue trainers and white crew socks, he appeared more muggle than anything. “Hi, ah, I’m Neville. I’m sure Harry told you about me.”

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia blinked at the two.

“Uh, hello?” Neville said in a quiet voice.

“Who the bloody hell do you think…”

“I am Augusta Longbottom,” Augusta Longbottom said with all the seeming authority of a Member of Parliament. “And you are the rudest man I ever met… even for a muggle! You have insulted me, my grandson, and our good name after we came all this way to see Harry.”

“Harry?” Aunt Petunia mumbled.

“Harry!” Uncle Vernon yelled. “HARRY! GET DOWN HERE NOW!”

Harry’s wonderful little fantasy shattered as the bellowing voice forced its way into his ears. He sat up in his bed. Uncle Vernon shouted his name again. Harry knew trouble when he heard it. In a flash he bounded out of his bed, crossed his room, and threw open door.

“HARRY!” Uncle Vernon roared his name for a fourth time.

Harry raced down the stairs. When he got past the half-wall partition and saw the people standing in the doorway, he stopped and nearly fell down the rest of the way. He rubbed his eyes behind his glasses, but the images remained.

“Neville!” He yelled in delight.

“Harry!” Neville returned the joyous greeting.

Harry raced down the stairs and flung himself at Neville. Neville caught him. It did not take any thinking as their mouths met. A kiss Harry dreamed about for weeks took form. Light started to shine from the two as the deep longing in their hearts knew release. Tears slid down his face as he kissed and kissed the young man he so loved.

“My word!” Mrs. Longbottom breathlessly exclaimed. “It is true.”

“What in bloody blazes is going on here?” Uncle Vernon loudly grumbled. “Who are you people? Why is that boy kissing Harry? And stop it you two!”

Harry did not think he possessed the strength to halt the kiss he desired for weeks on end. His body felt aflame with need and passion. He feared letting go of Neville in case he might suddenly disappear. However, Uncle Vernon’s voice did hold a power over him after fourteen years of conditioning. It agonized him to break away from Neville, but Harry did it. He did not, however, let go of his boyfriend. He only turned his head to stare at his uncle.

“Um, Uncle Vernon… Aunt Petunia, I’d like you, ah, meet – I guess – my boyfriend Neville and his grandmother, Missus Longbottom,” Harry attempted to make the introductions.

“Yes, yes, she told us who she is: a famous blood-line of dogs or something like that,” Uncle Vernon misstated the facts in totality. “Now can someone tell me if she’s going to fix the door she ruined?”

Mrs. Longbottom turned slightly red on the lower half of her face while the area around her eyes turned white.

“I’ll take care it,” Neville interceded. “Is there any way we can get a cup of tea and maybe a biscuit?”

“What? Oh, sure, yes. Please come in. Come in. The sitting room is this way,” Harry said with much less aplomb than his boyfriend.

His aunt and uncle sputtered as Mrs. Longbottom entered, followed by her grandson. Harry showed her to the living room. In the meanwhile, Neville unpocketed his wand, pointed it at the front door, and very, very quietly whispered a single word.

“Reparo.”

The magic took hold. Within moments the door floated back inside the doorjamb, and the pins slid into the hinge knuckles. Neville glanced around waiting for some sign the magical law enforcement division would arrive to whisk him away to Bangabang Prison for using magic as an underage wizard and in a muggle house. When nothing happened for ten seconds, he went trotting into the room where his grandmother took a seat on a sofa upholstered in pale yellow and white stripes. She looked entirely displeased.

“I told you I had a boyfriend,” Harry argued with his relatives. “I told you, and you believed Dudley instead of me.”

“Doesn’t matter whether or not it’s true, what are they doing here? I don’t recall you asking if they could come for tea!” Uncle Vernon managed to berate Harry while asking questions.

“I don’t know either! So why don’t you act like a civilized person and have a conversation with her!” He petulantly replied.

“Watch your tongue, boy. We don’t have to take care of you, you know. We only do this out the goodness of our hearts for the loving memory your aunt has for her sister,” the man all but growled.

Even Aunt Petunia rolled her eyes at the very obvious lie.

“Boys, do you think you can manage to procure some tea and maybe a chocky or two?” Mrs. Longbottom said in such a controlled manner it silenced everyone. “I wish to have a word with the Dursleys.”

“Yes, Gran,” Neville replied as if he did that all his life, which he did.

Neville turned to Harry. Harry grabbed his hand and hauled him toward the kitchen. They passed through the gangway, and closed the door. As soon as it stopped swinging, the two teenagers resumed their much desired kiss. They slowly sank to the floor as need and want took center stage.

“I am fairly certain we will never see the tea,” Mrs. Longbottom said as she observed the swinging door with a small smile on her face. It disappeared when she turned to face the owners of the house in Little Whinging.

“What do you want?” Uncle Vernon demanded without any preamble.

“You are aware my grandson and your nephew are… very involved with one another?” The woman queried.

“We are now,” Aunt Petunia all but spat as she tried to inconspicuously take a seat in an armchair and smoothing out her gray day dress. “We thought he was making up more lies when he told us.”

“Really? It is my understanding Harry Potter tends to err on the side of truthfulness, even when it costs him.”

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia eyed one another.

“But now that you’ve seen the evidence of his honesty, you would not begrudge them some time together? Hmm? It seems prolonged separation and distance from one another is not good for their health,” the elderly woman intoned.

“What do you mean not good for their health? Harry is fine. We take good care…”

“Harry appears undernourished,” Mrs. Longbottom interjected into Uncle Vernon’s protestation. “Neville also stopped eating. He says he has no appetite for anything. He spends his days sitting at a window staring in the direction of this ghastly suburb of London. Tell me: how does Harry spend his time and does he eat?”

“He… eats. Mostly he just lies in his room staring at the ceiling. He talks to himself quite often. The boy is not right in the head, in case you haven’t noticed. Sending him to that so-called school did not help his condition!” The rotund man said with such vehemence it set his carriage to wobbling, and it did not stop for several seconds when he quit speaking.

“And what condition would that be?” Their unwanted guest inquired.

Neither of the Dursleys spoke. Vernon Dursley shifted his voluminous short-sleeved shirt around his more than ample body. Harry often joked the name Little Whinging Tent and Awning likely got stamp on the man’s garments in a hidden locations. The joke routinely earned him extra chores. At the moment, even Mrs. Longbottom stared at the shirt and noted the size while she waited for an answer.

“Would that happen to be the one where a mass murderer and would-be dictator is trying to kill him? The same one that precipitated the need to place him… here?” The older woman said with a disdainful sweep of her eyes around the house.

Aunt Petunia looked offended.

“Please refrain. Your mock outrage is galling,” Mrs. Longbottom said in a tone filled with disgust. She arranged her handbag on her lap. “Neville explained to me ad nauseam, and I would like the emphasize the nausea part, of what Harry suffers at your hands. Others may be disinclined to say to you what needs to be said, but I assure you I’m not like others.”

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia faltered when trying to match the glare of the woman.

“Were it in my power to make the decision, I would remove Harry from this place and let The Dork Lord come and dispose of you. If you truly loved your sister, and I highly doubt you did, you’d do all you can to care for and comfort Harry. His loss is great, and those losses will continue to mount now that Lord Holdequart has returned.”

“What?” Aunt Petunia shrieked. “No one informed us that creature came back!”

“Perhaps if you sought a decent relationship with Harry he might be inclined to tell you important news that affects not only him, but you as well. Had you acted otherwise toward him, he even might be willing to defend you should the time come,” the sever-looking woman stated without any trace of irony in her delivery.

In the kitchen Harry and Neville wrestled to see who could strip the clothing off the other first. Their shirts lay halfway in the dining area where they threw them. A golden light surrounded their bodies as they giggled and touched one another repeatedly to make certain they did not enter a deluded dream state.

“This is too much!” Aunt Petunia railed at the woman. “You cannot come into this house and threaten us like this. I’ve half a mind to call the police!”

“I grant you the half a mind bit, but do you really believe I don’t know how to deal with the muggle police? Hmm? They might end up arresting you for endangering Harry’s well-being.”

Two mouths fell open.

“Instead, I am going to make you an offer I am certain you will accept. It will cost you nothing and it will see to the real needs of Harry,” she told the silent guardians of one of the most famous wizards in the wizarding world.

“An offer?” Uncle Vernon said in a greedy fashion.

“I propose you let Harry accompany Neville and me for the next two days,” she calmly stated. “Today is Neville’s birthday and, unless I am grossly mistaken – and I know I am not – tomorrow is Harry’s birthday. It would do both boys a world of good to spend some prolonged time together. In this way you can say you are giving Harry a fine and thoughtful gift. If you don’t mind me asking, what did you plan on giving him for his birthday?”

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia nervously glanced at one another.

“Yes, I see, and I am hardly surprised. Well, at the very least I can offer you a way out of that embarrassing predicament.”

“But if you know what I think you know, you know Harry cannot leave the house,” Aunt Petunia argued.

“Indeed, and I worked with some Ministry officials, not on the record and definitely not at their offices, to provide Harry some cover for two days. We devised a way to keep him disguised so he can enjoy something of a normal life during that span. The forces of Holdequart will have no idea where he is,” Mrs. Longbottom said in a cryptic yet certain manner.

“Let me see if I understand this correctly,” Uncle Vernon said while forming a steeple with his fingers in front of wide face and preposterous mustache. “You’re willing to take Harry for two days, free of charge, and can guarantee his safety? You’re doing this of your own free will?”

Augusta Longbottom glared at the heavy man and said: “That is more or less correct.”

“And you are asking nothing from us?” He continued.

“No,” the woman snapped. “Except, of course, your explicit permission to remove Harry from the premises for the duration.”

“One moment.”

Uncle Vernon all but pulled his brood-dam from the chair and ushered her to a far corner. He leaned in close to her, although Aunt Petunia appeared less than pleased. A greasy smile got affixed to his pudgy face.

“Think of it, Petunia: you can take Dudley for two days on a small trip without having to take Harry. I can get some things done around the house. It’s perfect! This woman does all the work and we get all the benefit. I say we let her have Harry,” Uncle Vernon gleefully whispered.

Aunt Petunia studied the man for a moment. The vast majority of her mind wanted to agree, but a note and a conversation with a crazy old man from fourteen years prior loomed in her mind. Dire threats about letting Harry leave the house unattended still rang in her ears. Her brain, however, reminded her the strange old hag arranged to protect Harry. She also seemed insistent about getting clear permission from the Dursleys. It seemed important. Her decision, however, got made the moment she heard the offer.

“All right. We’ll let her take Harry. If anything should happen to him, it’s on her head,” the matchstick-like woman agreed.

Uncle Vernon clapped his fat little hands together and his smile became all the more repugnant. He schooled himself into a less delighted countenance before turning to face the unwanted intruder. Aunt Petunia returned to her chair.

“After careful thought, we give you our permission to take Harry from this house for two days,” he said in a formal manner. “But anything that happens to him will be your responsibility.”

“Hmm, yes, I can see your reluctance to let him go, and I will take full responsibility for Harry. However, ma’am, I need your approval as well. As his blood aunt, that is very important,” Mrs. Longbottom intoned.

“Very well. Yes, Harry can go with you and that boy. Just look after him,” Aunt Petunia dryly consented.

“Your concern is commendable.”

The sarcasm from the woman all but stained the air. She opened her purse and retrieved her wand. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia became noticeably frightened. Mrs. Longbottom ignored them. She moved the end of the wand in a small circle while whispering words neither resident of the house could understand. Then she casually put the wand away.

“We just need to give the boys a minute,” she said with such saccharine sweetness it bordered on illegal.

In the kitchen Harry and Neville lay naked next to one another fully prepared to do whatever their hearts demanded. A thin layer of sweat coated each one as their mouths all but chewed on the others face in their state of want. Harry already started to spread his legs while Neville tried to get to his knees. At that moment, unfortunately for them, their clothing struck. Harry’s shirt, pants, and underwear twisted around his face. Neville’s assaulted him in the same manner. Try as they might to force the garments away, the attack continued. Neville finally sat back on his haunches and grumbled.

“This is my gran’s doing. I think she’s done and wants to see us,” he explained even through clothing muffled his voice. One of the legs of his shirts tried to slide over his head like a balaclava.

“Couldn’t she give us an hour or two?” Harry muttered in frustration as his underpants tried to strangle him.

“No, Harry, and I promise you this will be much better.”

“I doubt it.”

The two continued to fight their clothing, but the struggle diminished as they began to dress. Harry adjusted his overly-large pants in such a way so that his erection could be plainly seen. He wanted Neville’s grandmother to fully understand what she interrupted. Neville took a more modest approach. Following a minute of getting sorted out, the two teenagers stood, frustration on their faces, and left the kitchen. The door swung forward as they entered the sitting room.

Aunt Petunia glanced at Harry and Neville, turned a bit rosy in color, and shifted her eyes elsewhere. Uncle Vernon looked annoyed at the sight of the two disheveled boys. Mrs. Longbottom, conversely, smiled sweetly at both of them.

“Harry, I am pleased to inform you your aunt and uncle have graciously consented to allow you to come along with Neville and me to celebrate your joint birthdays. You will need to go to your room and pack an overnight bag as this small trip will extended through tomorrow evening,” the woman told him.

Harry’s eyes shifted back and forth between his aunt and uncle and Neville’s grandmother before he asked: “This isn’t joke, right?”

“No, it’s not a joke. You get to go along with us for two days,” the elderly woman repeated.

“And they agreed?” He asked and jerked a thumb toward his relative.

“They did.”

“And you’re sure they’re not lying? I mean, sometimes they say one thing and don’t mean it or… or… or they change their minds right after. You did get them to say it twice? That’s usually the magic number,” Harry rambled in a combination of confusion and disbelief.

“Mister Dursley? Missus Dursley? Did you give you permission for Harry to go?” Mrs. Longbottom inquired in slightly steely voice.

“Yes, we did,” Uncle Vernon rumbled and did not sound entirely happy.

“We did,” Aunt Petunia confirmed with the air of someone who just wanted the meeting to end.

Harry spun around and looked at Neville. Neville’s head bobbed up and down while he wore a gigantic and sloppy grin. Lastly, Harry beseeched Mrs. Longbottom with his eyes. She nodded once. Harry could not imagine how she pulled it off, but an enormous sense of gratitude suffused him.

“Thank you,” he almost wordlessly said as tears raced down his cheeks. “Thank you so much.”

“It is my pleasure, Harry,” Augusta Longbottom told him with absolute sincerity. “Why don’t you and Neville go and get your things ready.”

“Come on, Harry, I’ll give you hand,” Neville quietly told him and twined his fingers with his boyfriend’s.

Harry’s head went up and down as he allowed Neville to lead him. They left the living room and entered the foyer. Harry paused and altered course. He stopped before a small door in the stair well. He opened it. Inside a cot covered with an old sleeping bag still stood. On a piece of framing rested a row of tiny, nearly smooth tin soldiers. They stared into the grim gray space. Some marbles huddled in a corner where two pieces of wood met. Harry took it all in, and it seemed so much smaller than he remembered.

“This is where I slept ‘til I was twelve,” Harry told Neville. “Dudley used to jump on the stairs to wake me on most mornings. I hated it in there. Sometimes it felt like I couldn’t breathe, and there was too much dust.”

Harry closed the door. When he looked up at his boyfriend, Neville’s face sagged and looked ashen. They stood in silence for a moment.

“I heard… but… you were a child. Their nephew. How could they?”

“I don’t know. I never understood it, but it seemed normal ‘til I went to Snogwarts. They sort of became afraid of me when they realized I really was a wizard. That’s when I finally got Dudley’s old playroom to use,” Harry said and grabbed Neville’s hand. “It’s upstairs and loads better than the cupboard.”

Neville silently allowed Harry to take the lead. The boyfriends turned around and started walking. They went to the stairs and away from the accursed cupboard.

“Someday you will be asked to atone for what you’ve done to him,” Augusta Longbottom sneered at the Dursley. “No young man… nor anyone should be brought to tears because he is going to spend two measly days with a boyfriend. Your sins… crimes against him are almost as bad as what The Dork Lord has done to him.”

“I never!” Aunt Petunia fired back. “You have no idea what it’s like having him here. Never certain when something horrible is going to happen to us or Dudley. We cared for him when nobody…”

“Half the wizarding world is willing to take him in, would gladly see to his needs, and you have always known that. It is the blood magic between you and Harry that keeps him here. It is one of the protections no one can replicate. It requires nothing on your part, and yet you’ve tormented him for no good reason,” the visiting woman’s voice rang like a saber coming out of scabbard.

“See here, lady. This is our house. Our rules. We’ve suffered and sacrificed for him in ways you cannot imagine. Dudley has gone without some things because of him. If there is any unfairness, we’ve borne it!” Uncle Vernon groused and took half a step toward her.

“For someone so large you are pathetically small to believe your own lies. You’ve concocted a neat story to try and allay yourselves of guilt or responsibility, but you’ll never be able to sustain it. Pray you never need any assistance or help from Harry’s real people. You will find generosity of spirit to be absent in light of what you’ve done to him. You, his blood… this is… beyond the pale.”

Mrs. Longbottom stood before either could reply. Her words hung in the air like a final pronouncement. She scanned them with her dark gray eyes. The silence groaned with tension. Finally, the woman turned and headed for the exit to the foyer. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia scurried after her like rats. Both seethed with anger, but equally with fear. If Harry represented a threat in their lives, the woman dressed so oddly spelled utter doom. She went and stood by the front door.

“What I cannot understand, truly cannot fathom, is why he does not absolutely hate you,” Mrs. Longbottom continued at a lower volume. “He was born with a compassion so lacking in you people. I’ve heard tell Harry will be a great wizard one day. He is skilled and brave, having faced dangers at a young age you would never believe. In this place you could’ve made him stronger, perhaps you did, but you also ran the risk of creating another dark lord. That may be your worst crime.”

“You have no right to speak to us like that. Not in our house. Not where we live!” Uncle Vernon protested.

Above them they could hear Harry and Neville speaking and moving about the room. The woman stood as rigid as a statue while she gazed up the stairs. She did not look at the man or woman standing to her left.

“I may not have the right, but I have the duty to tell you what I see and to speak on Harry’s behalf. I have the duty because my son and Neville’s mother reside in a sanatorium. They were tortured to insanity by the followers of Lord Holdequart. Like Harry, Neville also lost his parents. Once a month my grandson has to go see what true evil is capable of doing. I never imagined I would meet a boy who faced banal, common evil every day while trying to grow up and be a good person.”

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia became shocked at being called evil. It momentarily stilled their mouths. Harry and Neville’s voices grew louder as did the sound of their footfalls. Soon they bounded down the stairs and seemed full of giddy energy.

“I’m ready, Mrs. Longbottom. Neville helped me pick out some of my better clothes,” Harry told her. He turned to his aunt and uncle and said: “Thank you for letting this happen. It’s… honestly, it’s the best present you’ve ever given me. I’m sorry I was rude to you last night.”

“Well, don’t let us keep you from it. Behave, boy. I don’t want to hear a bad report about you,” Uncle Vernon told him in a rather somber tone.

“Yes, please do behave, Harry,” Aunt Petunia begged him, but Harry also heard a note of warning in her voice. Her eyes seemed to want to hold his.

“Now that you’re ready to go, take my arm,” Mrs. Longbottom said to Harry and Neville, and she held up her left arm. “Do get a good grip, but not too tight.”

“Yes, Gran.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The teenagers spoke nearly in unison as they reached to take hold of her arm. Despite feeling thin, the limb seemed strong. Mrs. Longbottom did not waver as they secured themselves to her.

The elderly woman faced the other adults and said: “He will be returned tomorrow promptly at nine in the evening. Good day.”

Mrs. Longbottom did not wait for a reply. Suddenly three people folded in on themselves and out of sight, and the act scared the living daylights out of the Dursleys. In the space where Harry stood a moment before, something seemed to linger. Both Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia stared at the empty spot.


	3. Chapter 3

Five seconds later and to the north and west of London quite far from Little Whinging, three people unfolded out the thin air. One of the three stood wobbling on his feet and struggling to keep the contents of his empty stomach in check. A backpack dangled from his arm, and Harry considered using it to catch his vomit. He felt as if someone bunched him up and stuffed him through a rubber tube.

“You’re doing just fine, Harry. The first few times apparating can be disorienting. Plus we’re right on the edge of my range, so it makes it a little worse,” Mrs. Longbottom told him. “Neville’s become quite used to it.”

“Yeah, it doesn’t bother me much anymore. Besides, Gran is spot on with her apparating,” Neville said with glowing pride for his grandmother.

“Now, now, Neville, I’ve been doing it an awfully long time, so I should have some proficiency,” she replied as if mildly offended by the compliment. “Feeling better yet, Harry?”

“Yes, ma’am. That I-want-to-puke feeling goes away pretty quickly,” he told her.

“Hmm, you don’t say. I suspect you’ve a rather sturdy constitution. Now, Neville show Harry where he’ll be staying. I need to freshen up a bit, and then how about we go and get a bite to eat in a little while. It will be close enough to lunchtime. You should be getting hungry by then,” Mrs. Longbottom instructed them.

“Now that you mention it, I am already pretty hungry,” Harry agreed.

“Me, too,” Neville chimed in.

Harry saw a strange little smile on Mrs. Longbottom’s face. For a brief second, she almost appeared sad. It disappeared into her normal rather stoic visage.

“And while you are getting settled, I need to pop next door to see Mrs. Dewmeister. She called on me this morning right as we were getting ready to depart. Shan’t be too long, but perhaps long enough for one cup,” the woman told them.

Without another word she strolled through house. Harry watched her go, and glanced at Neville. Neville wore an odd grin.

“They argue like trolls and goblins,” Neville mumbled. Then he turned to Harry and said: “Come on.”

Neville lead Harry through a house definitely decorated by an older woman, and yet it looked less dainty than what Aunt Petunia did in Little Whinging. It presented a classical, more staid approach to furnishing a house. A sturdy carpeting of muted green covered all available floor space as far as Harry could see. The carpet stretched between tall wooden baseboards stained a light brown and varnished to a nice sheen. Most of the walls were painted, although a sitting room Harry passed through got coated in a wallpaper with a design he did not recognize. The pastel greens and yellows in the paper accented the carpeting. All of the furniture Harry saw looked ancient, study, and in excellent repair. Some of the chairs looked to be covered in leather, but not taken from cows. Old paintings depicting bucolic country scenes adorned many of the walls, and figures strolled lazily within the frames. It all appeared tasteful.

Harry also saw lots of magical photographs. A number of them depicted Neville’s father, whom Harry recognized from a photo Hagrid showed him, standing alongside another man. They looked happy, and he guessed the other man to be Frank Longbottom’s husband. In another photograph Neville’s birth mother and her wife stood with Frank and his husband. Harry assumed the infant to be Neville, and he looked cherubic, round, and, above all, happy. It made Harry’s heart ache a little.

“This is a nice house,” Harry approvingly said as they aimed for a short hall on the other side of the main sitting room.

“My great-grandmother helped settle this village, and it’s been passed down from mother to daughter ever since,” Neville told him after stopping and glancing at his own home. “Gran says it’ll be mine when the time comes. I don’t like thinking about that.”

“I don’t blame you.”

Harry gently pulled and drew Neville to him. A soft light began to glow between them. They smiled at one another.

“I missed you so much,” Harry whispered. “It was killing me, Neville.”

“Yeah, same here,” his boyfriend replied. “It’s funny, but my gran cooked up this whole birthday plan. I think she was worried about me.”

“She loves you. I can see it.”

Neville’s cheeks turned a rosy color, and then he asked: “Guess where you’ll be sleeping?”

“Guest room, I suppose,” Harry answered.

“Nope. Gran said it’d be better if you stayed in my room.”

The guest teenager’s mouth hung open a little. He thought Neville’s grandmother would be more traditional. The notion he would get to sleep next to his boyfriend once more made his heart race.

“She said she understands what a young man needs. Really embarrassed me when she said it, but….” and the host trailed off.

“Pretty sporting of her,” Harry filled in the blank.

“It is,” Neville said and nodded his head. “Want to see my room?”

“Why do you think you even need to ask me that?”

They stared at one another and began to giggle. Neville hauled Harry through the rest of the house at quick pace. They entered the small hall that contained no less than five doors space roughly three meters apart with the fifth occupying the end. Neville aimed straight for it, pushed open the polished door, and stepped in. Harry’s mouth did fall open.

“This is huge! It’s almost as big as our dorm room at Snogwarts!” he said and goggled.

“Used to be my dad’s room, too,” Neville said with obvious pride as he closed the bedroom door.

At the far end a rather large bed sat beneath a triple set of double-windows. Heavy drapes of forest green, a theme color if Harry ever saw one, got pulled and cinched to the sides to let in the sunlight. The bed, larger than the ones they used at Snogwarts and almost three times the width of Harry’s at the Dursley residence, looked almost like a battle wagon. The frame consisted of heavy slabs of wood stained a dark brown and highly polished. A small footboard rose up at one end, and a grand carved headboard rested against the wall. Harry recognized the scene etched into the headboard, but could not remember the name of incident involving a dragon, a giant tree, and several wizards. The bedspread carried a leaf motif of several shades of green.

“Blimey, Neville, no wonder you like plants so much. Your room is like a forest in here,” Harry said without any sarcasm.

“Gran let me decorate it when I was ten, and I sort of added to it ever since,” Neville informed him.

Nearly every centimeter of wall space not occupied with furniture bore pictures and illustrations of various trees and plants. On Neville’s bureau rows of potted plants, including a young tentacular, rested in the light from the window. The greenery inside each pot, and some being succulents, literally leaned toward the young man. Bookshelves stood on the opposite wall, next to a tallboy dresser, and tomes both old and new lined the shelves. A quick scan of the titles showed why Neville knew so much about flora.

“Did you read all these?” Harry inquired.

“Yeah. Had to store some of my books in the cellar,” Neville replied while he emptied Harry’s overnight pack into a drawer in the dresser. Two loud thumps made the young man stare into the drawer. “Gonna put your toothbrush and paste in the bathroom.”

Neville strolled out of his room while Harry continued to examine the room and the contents. It felt like he stepped into his boyfriend’s mind. On a desk that appeared to be several centuries old more books, mostly illustrated, sat open or sprouting bookmarks like plumage. A small easel with a canvas pasteboard held in the frame rested next to a group of paints, brushes, and the trappings of an artist. Harry gazed at the unfinished picture. He immediately recognized it as fishface lace. He grinned from the memory.

“Can’t quite get the right blue-gray color for the fronds,” Neville said behind Harry.

Harry started a bit and whirled around. Neville caught him. His long arms snaked around Harry.

“You’re too thin, Harry. You looked starved,” his boyfriend said with real concern in his voice.

“Not been hungry much. And you should talk. I could see all your ribs back at Little Whinging,” Harry rejoined.

“I haven’t had much of an appetite either since school let out.”

Harry pulled Neville’s shirt free from the waistband of his shorts, and ran his hands along the lanky sides. As he noted, he could feel the distinct outline of every rib. Neville seemed to be losing more than just weight, and it worried Harry. However, he could not be dissuaded from thinking Neville the handsomest sight he ever saw. Small lights sparkled between them when Neville pulled up Harry’s tee-shirt.

“Your stomach is sunken,” Neville whispered. “I’m surprised you’ve got enough hips left to hold up your trousers.”

“Who said I was trying to hold them up?”

It signaled the start of a second similar race. Harry tried to unbuckle and unbutton Neville’s pants as fast as he could. Neville did the same. The metal zippers roared as they got yanked down. Neville’s comment about Harry’s hips proved prescient. Harry’s pants slid down without any assistance. However, Neville’s did as well. Then the real race began.

Fifteen minutes after leaving the house, August Longbottom returned. She saw the closed door of her grandson's bedroom, and it required little imagination to guess what took place on the other side. Fortunately, spells she and her late woman placed on the room during Frank Longbottom's adolescence remained intact and provided her grandson privacy while sparing her too much intimate confirmation. She smiled, but it seemed cautious.

"He's an amazing boy, Neville," she whispered while she sat down in one of the padded parlor armchairs. "He's suffered as much as you."

The woman believed that with totality. She mourned the loss of her wife, Neville's grandfather and his husband, and finally the near complete destruction of her son and daughter-in-law's minds. Death, Augusta thought, would be kindness for Frank and Alice Longbottom. However, she counted her good fortune that The Dork Lord never went after her grandson as he did Harry Potter. The Potter boy's life got completely warped by the horrid half-man, half-woman. She shuddered.

"Your aunt and uncle didn't do you any favors," Mrs. Longbottom groused while her ire piqued again. "Foul people, even for muggles. You poor child."

Augusta recounted the many rumors circulating in the wizarding world regarding the condition under which Harry lived. It appalled her to find at least half of them to be true. For years she heard her grandson extol the travails and virtues of Harry Potter, and the seeming chaos his presence introduced at Snogwarts. Neville fixated on Harry almost from the first time he wrote home to say he shared a room with the famous, perhaps infamous, boy wizard. Only the thought of Albus Dumbledore, despite his many character flaws, and the Snogwarts fortress let Augusta feel safe about Neville attending school with Harry. In many ways she hoped his association with and proximity to Potter would inspire Neville to achieve more. Only in the last seven months did that happen, and one of her greatest fears regarding her grandson got dismissed.

Augusta sighed and said: "I'm sorry I doubted you, my sweet boy. I just… couldn't imagine people would be unkind to him at Snogwarts. And to think he noticed you because you told him to go to the library. How very… Neville of you."

For nearly the entire life of her grandson she worried he would not amount to much of a wizard. Thus, when he showed an aptitude for horticulture, Augusta encouraged it. A different side of Neville emerged whenever he walked into his garden or any garden for that matter. Since the day he could first read on his own, tales of magical plants and talking trees entranced her grandson. That gave way to actual study. By the time he got his acceptance letter for Snogwarts, August found it difficult to locate books to satisfy her grandson. Neville's knowledge regarding flora and herbology outstripped almost all of his contemporaries according to Pomona Sprout. In Madam Sprout Augusta found a willing caretaker for her grandson.

"Does Harry know and appreciate the depth of your knowledge about things that grow?" Mrs. Longbottom rhetorically asked the empty air. "It is so much a part of who you are, dear child. Do you even understand how proud I am of you when it comes to that?"

She did not fib. Augusta long before admitted she did not understand even a tenth of what her grandson did when it came to flowers and plants. No matter where they went her grandson could expound on the native species to be found, and so she began to arrange summer holidays so Neville could continue to see the plant life where it grew. The backyard garden seemed a work of art to her. Neville assumed complete control of the plots even prior to attending Snogwarts. Each year he made subtle but apparently important additions and changes to his garden. Pomona warned Augusta the boy tended toward the more interesting if dangerous plants. Yet Madam Sprouts clandestine and surreptitious visits to the garden allayed most of their concerns when they saw how carefully Neville planned and executed his.

"Doesn't anyone else see that gift in you?"

No one answered.

True academics, she recalled, tended to get very little notice until they somehow managed to change the world in some miraculous. Smaller efforts tended to go unnoticed regardless of the utility it offered the masses. An example sprang into Augusta's mind. Professor Scamander reigned as one of the celebrities in academia during her time at Snogwarts, yet even he could get overshadowed by some aerial stunt performed on broomstick during a fappitch match. It seemed unfair to her.

"I mean, honestly, what difference does it make if a buggerer hits the queefle through the hoop? Who remembers once the bets are settled and galleons exchange hands? Yet the person who figures out the spell that saves thousands of lives is never mentioned," Mrs. Longbottom continued to talk to herself. "Is he going to overshadow you, Neville? Are you going to get lost in his fame and antics?"

Augusta never told her grandson, once she understood the depth of the relationship he developed with Harry, that she feared he would get subsumed by the notoriety surrounding Harry. Whether unintentional or not, she wanted Neville to forge his own identity on his own terms. The attachment to Harry could impede the development of his self-perception. It started to become a Gordian knot in her mind. She saw other couples where one or the other, sometimes both, lost some part of their independent personality because of the strength of the other or the combined might of the relationship. Augusta wanted the world to know Neville Longbottom for his own achievements.

"Even I never thought that far ahead when I meat Dimodia. Such a grand woman. Such a wonderful witch," she said with a sigh as she thought of her late mate. "You're too young to be willing to sacrifice that much of yourself. You've not even finished growing yet, Neville."

The woman understood the plight of her grandson. While she feared he might be breeder for the longest time, it got replaced by the notion Neville would settle for the first boy who ever showed the slightest interest in him. His low self-esteem regarding his abilities and physical attributes made Neville an easy mark in her estimation. Yet Harry Potter, who could likely land anyone he wanted regardless of her grandson's protestations to the contrary, seemed entirely enraptured by her son's son. Their seeing and greeting one another for the first time in weeks lent evidence to that fact. The situation puzzled the woman and, in some respects, greatly troubled her. Augusta did not delude herself into thinking her grandson emotionally and mentally matured that much in such a short span of time. The relationship between the two teenagers seemed rife with dangerous portents and warning signs.

A sigh escaped her again as the elder Longbottom stared at the closed door. She, herself, learned a hard lesson over the summer about alienating her grandson. It gave her pause and created an uncertainty in her mind as to how to proceed. It seemed patently obvious Neville needed to see Harry at least once during the months between school years lest he dwindle to nothing, and Augusta could not tolerate losing another family member. She dedicated the last decade and a half of her life to the preservation of Neville and, in too many respects, a part of herself. She sighed once more.

"I thought this celebration was only for Neville's benefit until I met your aunt and uncle. I never dreamed the stories Neville told me about them could really be true," Augusta sadly commented, and then got up. She went to her own room to freshen up.

“Neville,” Harry said in the bedroom a few minutes later.

Neville got lost in what he did.

“Neville!” Harry half shouted the name.

“What?” His boyfriend angrily said after pulling his head backward.

“Your grandmother isn’t going to be gone forever,” he said through a chuckle because he fully understood the reaction.

“Oh, cripes, Harry, thanks for remembering!” Neville said while mentally shifting gears.

The taller of the two scrambled to his feet, shorts around his ankles. Harry reached out to grab what stood out from his boyfriend. Neville pulled back on his hips.

“Do that and the damn thing will stay up all afternoon, Harry!”

“Seriously, I would not mind one bit!”

Neville rolled his eyes and stooped down to grab his pants and underwear. Harry stepped back and did the same. It did not matter that he just got release, Harry still felt highly sexually charged. Neville, by appearances alone, seemed to be in the same state. They took a few minutes to make certain their clothes did not resemble how they looked after leaving the Dursley’s kitchen. Neville rubbed his hands around Harry’s sides, while it caused Harry’s member to stiffen a little, the look of concern on his boyfriend’s face caught his attention the most.

“Honestly, you’ve lost too much weight, Harry. Did they stop feeding you or did you stop eating?” Neville demanded for a second time that day.

“There was food, I just… eating just didn’t seem important. All I wanted to do was lie in bed and dream about you when I wasn’t reading. That was the only thing that kept me going… and your letters… and Hermione’s. Diktor’s, too… plus there was Hedwig to look after. Eating just fell to the bottom of the list,” he explained and shrugged at the end.

Neville once more encircled Harry with his arms. He responded in kind. Neville still seemed worried.

“To tell you truth, I sort of did the same thing, ‘cept I wasn’t getting any letters from a famous fappitch player. I did get a few from Hermione. None from Ron,” Harry’s boyfriend informed him. “You’re right: eating just didn’t seem all that important.”

“Then why am I so hungry right now?” Harry asked, but more to himself.

“Search me, but I could eat a hippocamp by myself,” Neville said through a grin. “But I really didn’t just lie around in here. Want to see my garden?”

“Of course I do!”

Neville smiled at the exuberance in Harry’s voice. As seemed to be the custom for the day, Neville grabbed Harry’s hand and lead him back through the house. Harry noted more details, especially concerning the number of photographs showing Neville’s blood parents. Harry never saw a picture of his parents until he got to Snogwarts. No matter where one turned in the Longbottom home, the same two couples could be seen. Harry began to suspect Neville’s grandmother put in serious effort to ensure her grandson saw his blood parents as energetic and youthful people instead of what got housed at St. Mungo’s. However, such observations got cut short when they exited through a small mud room containing pairs of boots, gloves laid out to dry, and three pair of coveralls.

“By Merlin,” Harry said in awe when the stepped into the private garden.

On every available space something grew. A riot of colors played with Harry’s vision as various species of plants waved and wiggled. Several small trees, each a different variety, grew in the corners and in the center of the courtyard. It looked to be out of some storybook to Harry. He turned in a circle several times trying to take it all in.

“Neville this… this is extraordinary. You did this all on your own?” Harry said and asked a question to which he already knew the answer.

“Gran tends to it when I’m at school, but I selected all the plants and designed the layout. There are some species you can’t put next to others or they’ll fight,” Neville explained, and Harry heard again such strong certainty in his boyfriend. “I also had to be careful I didn’t set up a paradise for gnomes. Once you get an infestation, it’s really hard to get rid of them.”

“Does Madam Sprout know about your garden?”

“Well, she knows I tinker here at home when I get the chance.”

“No, I mean have you taken pictures of this and showed her?” Harry clarified.

Neville shook his head from side to side.

“You need to get snaps of this, Neville. You may want to think about inviting Colin or Dennis Creevey over to take pictures for you. They both have a good eye.”

“Hmm, that’s not a bad idea.”

Harry wandered the perimeter of the garden trying to guess how many years it took his boyfriend to create the small wonder. It seemed natural as one type of plant flowed into the next as though they belonged together. Harry saw Neville tending to a tree that looked ordinary, but he knew nothing ordinary sprouted in the space.

“What kind of tree is that?” Harry asked.

“This is the olea europaea I brought back from Italy. It’s a type of evergreen. You can tell by the shape of the leaves,” Neville said and clearly forgot he spoke to one of the second least attentive herbology students in their year.

“Does it have a common name.”

“Oh, yes: this is an olive tree, Harry.”

“Right, right! You were talking about it on the last day of school. How’s it doing?” Harry asked and did not fake his interest.

“Growing, and the other one over there is the cultivar for this one. It took two years before I could figure out which one would bear fruit… if it ever does. They’re picky about climate and soil. Took a bit of time to create the right soil mix to create a slightly higher p-h and proper drainage. Winter is a bugger ‘cause we can’t let them get below minus six cee,” Neville continued to speak like a budding expert.

“That’s a lot of work.”

“It’ll be worth it if I can get it to adapt and bear fruit. Then I can start making hybrids with some other kinds of trees. I wonder if it can be combined with a magical species.”

Harry heard the shift in his boyfriend’s voice. When it came to things stemming from the soil, Harry needed to fight for Neville’s attention. However, seeing him at his home, in his garden, revealed subtle aspects to the teenager never displayed at school. Neville possessed a discipline matched only by Hermione. In the case of herbology, it likely exceeded the stand-out witch. Furthermore, he exuded a quiet, solid confidence Harry found appealing. Neville in his element became a wonder to behold.

“Can I ask you a question?” Harry requested.

Neville did not turn to look at him, but continued to study the leaves of his olive tree when he said: “Certainly.”

“Anything dangerous in here?”

Neville chuckled and replied: “Not that Gran knows of. I usually take a cutting and prune what I need for school and ship it all to Snogwarts before anything becomes active.”

“Such as?” Harry prodded.

“Well, real snap dragons, Alahazar’s saw grass, pricklethorn snipers… and a couple of others I’d rather not mention. I can’t let those mature here. Madam Sprout takes care of them for me for a week before I get to school. She gets to keep samples, so she doesn’t mind,” the lanky teenager stated as if he thoroughly considered where the trouble might take root.

Harry walked up behind Neville and wrapped his arms around the now thinner waist. Neville made a short humming noise. The unintentionally famous wizard deeply inhaled. Harry wanted to get a combination of Neville’s scent and the aromas of his garden. It painted a picture in his mind. He always associated the smell of earth, fertilizer, and growing things with his boyfriend. The heavily oxygenated environment also energized him. It began to produce a predictable effect on Harry. After half a minute, Neville chuckled.

“Guess it’s always going to be the greenhouse for us, huh?” Neville softly said.

“Never thought the smell of fertilizer would make me so randy,” Harry confirmed.

The taller of the two turned a half-circle without dislodging Harry’s arms. Neville wrapped his own around his boyfriend. He stared into the emerald eyes that seemed filled with so many mysteries. After seeing how Harry got forced to live at the Dursley’s, he expected to see pain. He did not. Harry’s eyes appeared bright and clear despite his underfed appearance. Neville leaned his head down. A pair of lips met his own. Heat and light immediately began to emanate from them.

“Ahem,” a voice said several minutes later. “I hate to disrupt your reunion, but perhaps we should head out.”

Much to their credit, Harry and Neville did not rush in breaking apart. They slowly untangled from each other. Harry squarely faced Mrs. Longbottom even though he could feel the flush in his neck. While she wore a routine stern expression, he detected something more. Touches of simple happiness and relief crept in around the edges. She walked down into the garden where they stood. The heels of her shoes clacked on the flagstones.

“What is your opinion of my Neville’s efforts, Mr. Potter?” Mrs. Longbottom directly addressed him as her eyes swept around the garden.

“It’s brilliant and better than anything I can even imagine. It smells nice, looks beautiful, and it’s… well, comforting. Neville and plants are sort of mixed together in my head,” Harry freely told her.

“He’s always had a way with living things,” the woman stated in a softer voice as she gazed at her grandson.

“Gran,” Neville demurred, blushed, and turned his head away.

“You need to take more pride in your abilities, Neville,” his grandmother lightly rounded on him.

“That’s what I keep telling him,” Harry added. “I don’t know what Madam Sprout would do without him. He took take of the greenhouses and the gardens during the Bi-Wizard Tournament. And without him I would’ve failed the loch challenge.”

“Ah, yes. I’ve learned a bit about that event from Neville, but I’d most interested in hearing about it from the actual participant,” Mrs. Longbottom stated. “It might make for a good topic during dinner this evening.”

Harry nodded. Neville remained slightly pink in the face.

“Now… dear me, this will not do at all,” Harry’s hostess said and stepped back. “You’re all but swimming in those clothes, Harry. Go stand over there and hold out your arms.”

Harry did as bid, and a touch of confusion alighted on his face. After reaching the appointed spot and stretching out his upper limbs, he waited. Mrs. Longbottom opened her purse and retrieved her wand. She aimed in Harry’s general direction. Harry felt his eyes narrow.

“Harry, please, I will not harm you,” she replied to his expression. “Have you truly faced that many troubles?”

“The last person who aimed a wand at me tried to kill me after killing my friend,” Harry said to her in a darker tone than he intended. He could not stop his continuing reaction to Cedric’s death. “I was surrounded by people pointing their wands at me just waiting for the chance to do me in.”

“My word,” Mrs. Longbottom gasped.

“Told you, Gran. He really did square off against He… Lord Hold… dequart,” Neville stated and stuttered out the name.

“Neville Erasmus Morgan Longbottom! We do not use that name…”

“Fear of a name creates an unreasonable fear of the thing itself,” Harry interjected, and received a very sharp glance from his boyfriend’s grandmother for doing so. He felt idiotic for not lowering his arms. “Please, Mrs. Longbottom, think about it. People live in terror of Holdequart’s name, and it only amplifies their fear of him. It’s the first strike he makes against people. I won’t even call him Lord Holdequart to his face: I call him Tom Widdle, his birth name.”

Her eyes widened quite a bit.

“It’s the only decent piece of advice Professor Dumbledore ever gave me,” he added for good measure. “And Hermione put it into better words.”

“You actually called him Tom Widdle?” Mrs. Longbottom inquired with a hint of skepticism.

“Yeah. He hates it. Hearing his given name throws him off his game. He gets erratic when he hears it. I think it’s just proof of how much Tom hates himself. It sort of reminds him of how he got started on all this… destruction,” Harry expounded on his thinking as he grinned a wicked smirk.

“You are exceptionally brave, Harry.”

“Trust me: it had nothing to do with bravery. I was just trying to keep myself alive each time. It was talking to his diary shade that gave me the idea. He seemed too proud of the name Lord Holdequart, and that crap story he made up about Lord Holdequart being an ana… amagr… wait…”

“Anagram?” Mrs. Longbottom said for him.

“Yeah, anagram. He says it’s an anagram of his real name, but half the letters aren’t even there,” Harry concluded.

“You know his full name?”

“Sure. It’s Thomas Mallow Widdle. See? Not a Q, U, or R in sight,” he explained as if obvious and commonsense should take over.

“Now do you believe me, Gran?” Neville asked his grandmother.

“Believe what?” Harry asked with suspicion.

Mrs. Longbottom gave him a thin smile and said: “Neville constantly tells me you have no idea what bravery and courage lays within you. He says he takes example from it, and it’s made his life better.”

Harry huffed and said: “And I keep telling him it’s not courage or bravery. It’s mostly stupidity, to be honest. I start getting into something and I don’t know when to quit. I usually wind up dragging my friends into whatever trouble gets going. Really, I just wish it would all stop so I could lead a normal life.”

Mrs. Longbottom recalled her statements to the Dursleys about Harry’s innate sense of honesty she heard about from not only her grandson but several others. She realized she got a perfect example. Harry did not know how to dissemble. The events of his life apparently did not leave much room for duplicity or guile.

“Well, I am sure you do, and that is part of what these next two days will be about,” the older woman said and swung the topic around. “Now, hold still, Harry. This is not going to hurt… and it is not a threat to you.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Harry mumbled, and he grimaced a bit when he heard Neville chuckle.

“Hmm, let’s see… vestimenti magnitudo perfectus,” she said with complete command and an intricate wave of her wand.

Harry felt a tingle around his body, and then his clothes began to shrink. However, they did not become tight. Instead, Harry encountered a physical comfort regarding clothing he never experienced while wearing Dudley’s hand-me-downs. He looked down and glanced at the pants and a tee-shirt that suddenly seemed tailored to him.

“And how about a little purgo ac reparo,” his hostess muttered with a swish of her hand.

Old stains disappeared from the material. The shirt brightened to a cleaner white, and the odd muggle print on the front looked fresh. His jeans appeared cleaner than the first time he washed them and tried to remove Dudley’s stink from the material. Two patches at the knees fell off as the holes underneath wove themselves into wholeness. Other small rips and tears vanished.

“Core, thanks, Mrs. Longbottom! You’ve gonna have to teach me that resizing spell,” he gushed and half-begged. “Never had clothes that really fit me before ‘cept some of the stuff I bought in Snogsmeade. These are like brand new! This is one of the best presents ever! Thank you so much!”

Mrs. Longbottom and her grandson exchanged a pained glance at Harry’s excitement. It did excite Harry. All his life he got teased because the clothes he wore clearly looked second-hand and often third-hand. He smiled as he shifted his lower torso around and his pants moved with him instead of presenting a tripping hazard. He lifted one leg and then the other. Not one part bound or pinched him. Harry looked at the woman and beamed a thoroughly appreciative and thankful smile.

“You’re more than welcome, Harry, and that really wasn’t a gift. More of a tidying up so you’d feel more comfortable,” she told him in a tight voice. “Tomorrow we’ll see to adjusting your other clothes, and I most certainly will teach you those spells. They should not prove to be too difficult for a clever young wizard such as yourself.”

Harry’s face turned slightly red, he rolled his eyes a bit, and ducked his head.

“Now, I need both of you to come here, and we need to discuss something very serious,” Mrs. Longbottom ordered them.

Harry and Neville marched the meter and half to her, and then all but stood at attention. Mrs. Longbottom held out her hand. In her palm rested two pendants on silver chains. One looked like a gnarled old tree and the other a fair rendition of a fappitch snatch in flight. Harry and Neville looked at the jewelry, then to each other, and at last to the elderly woman.

“I assumed you would know which is for whom,” she said to them. “Now take one and put it around your neck. These will allow you to move about in public without being pestered or hounded about… well, being who you are, Harry.”

Harry carefully took the silver snatch pendant. Neville accepted the golden tree. They did as bid and slipped them around their necks. They waited.

“Very good. Now touch the pendant with your dominant hand and say ‘I don’t feel myself today,’” she further instructed them.

Harry and Neville placed their hands on the pendants and said in unison: “I don’t feel myself today.”

Harry experienced a similar sensation to one he endured in his second year when he, Hermione, and Ron used a polyjuice potion. His skin itched and felt hot. Invisible hands seemed to tug at him, pinch parts of his body and face, and generally mistreat him. It lasted only a few seconds. When it ended, he glanced at his bare arms to see if any bruises got left behind.

“That wasn’t very much fun, Gran,” Neville grumped.

“Oh, perhaps not, but… well, take a look at one another,” she replied, and it sounded slightly rebuking.

Harry turned his head, and then jumped back half a step. Instead of Neville a boy of roughly the same height but heavier set with a deep olive complexion, very dark brown eyes, and thick hair so black it shone with blue highlights stared back at him. Two days' worth of beard stubble graced his chin and very full upper lip. The nose looked pudgy against the high cheekbones. Twin black caterpillars sprouted over each eye. Harry gaped.

“You look Dutch and nothing at all like Harry Potter!” Neville exclaimed.

“Me?” Harry rejoined. “Did you just get off the boat from Sicily?”

“Not only does it disguise you, but the charm makes it impossible to determine exactly who you are. It is very specialized confudus field charm,” Mrs. Longbottom. “And I must say if I ever saw the two of you wandering the streets in this guise, I’d have no idea who either of you might be.”

“Flitwick would love to see this,” Harry mumbled.

“Professor Filius Flitwick helped charm them,” she said. “He’s got a soft spot for you, Harry, and agreed to hold this in the strictest of confidences.”

“Well, he has felt me up a few times, and he gave me a lot of help with the sound balloons I used on the Merscots,” the house guest intoned.

“Filius was very proud of the scheme you concocted, and even more proud you never told him what you intended to do with those devices.”

“Aw, Gran. Why didn’t you tell me you were going to Snogwarts, I could’ve gone and checked the gardens,” Neville complained.

“I didn’t go to Snogwarts. Filius met me at the Minister’s house. We needed the Minister’s permission to do this. Fudgepacker approved charming the house to hide Harry’s presence. This raises a very important point,” and she fixed both of them with such a hard stare both boys felt like she punched them. “Never leave this house without activating the pendants. Never take the pendants off when outside. In fact, don’t take them off until we are safely back this evening. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Harry said and found he would likely be saying it a lot.

“Yes, Gran,” Neville said in a familiar manner.

Mrs. Longbottom continued to hold them with her iron gaze before she said: “Wonderful. Now, what do you say to a nice lunch Kellar’s Cellar?”

Neville instantly turned giddy. Harry glanced back and forth between grandmother and grandson. After a few moments, they started at him.

“What is it, Harry?” Mrs. Longbottom inquired.

“Well, um, I suppose… see, I don’t know why Neville is getting so excited. I figure if he knows where we’re going, and maybe I brought the wrong clothes with me,” he told them.

“Oh, no, Harry, you’re attire is fine.”

“Harry, this place is brilliant,” Neville babbled. “It’s nothing like The Leaky Cauldron or The Three Broomsticks, but it’s still only for us magic folk. I wouldn’t lie to you. This restaurant is absolutely brilliant!”


	4. Chapter 4

Harry knew all about Diagon Alley. However, he seldom heard about other wizarding businesses or communities. Thus, he got a rare treat following an unnerving bus ride to a district called Mobius Street located just outside of Canterbury in Church Wood. Unlike Diagon Alley that hid in the heart of London, Mobius Street seemed wide and open except for the fact the main street double-backed and twisted on itself and rose at least seventy-five meters into the air if not more. It sat nestled in a large wooded expanse with a small village at either end sitting on regular ground. Mrs. Longbottom told Harry modern wizards found a way to use muggle geometry to their advantage, and the configuration doubled the amount of building space available without requiring double the land space. When they arrived, Harry’s disorientation went into overdrive until Mrs. Longbottom told him to simply stare down at the road.

“How’d they do this?” Harry asked once he figured out a way to examine huge swathes of Mobius Street without feeling like he should fall off or vomit.

“The secret is in stretching the twist over a long distance so it doesn’t cause the building to bunch up. If we take the trolley the length of it first, it will help you get used to the conditions here,” the woman told him and seemed rather knowledgeable about the magical district.

Forty-five minutes later when the trolley dropped them off where they began, Harry did feel better. He got used to seeing structures leaning at crazy angles, and people remaining attached to the sidewalks and street when it seemed they should fall to their death. The number of wizarding businesses and stores astounded him. It also looked fairly modern compared to Diagon Alley. Even the local branch of Gringott’s seemed sleeker.

“Now do you know why I was so excited. I love coming here,” Neville said as he all but mashed Harry’s hand into pulp. “The muggles don’t even know it exists!”

One of the newer experiences Harry got to enjoy, aside from becoming acclimated to a dizzying environment, came in the fact he could hold Neville’s hand and none of the other teenagers gave them an askance look. The charmed necklaces worked to perfection, and Harry never felt so liberated in all his life. Only some of the boys gave him a glance, and it suggested sex instead of wanting to see his scar and hearing scary tales about Holdequart. He never imagined he could be free of the history, interest, and reputation surrounding him.

“Very well. We’ve had a look around. Harry got his feet under him, and now I say it’s time for a meal. I am more than a little peckish,” Mrs. Longbottom declared.

“Can we stop at Gringott’s so I can get some galleons?” Harry sheepishly asked.

“Certainly not. That would waste all the magic that got applied to those pendants. The magic in the bank would dispel the charms!” The woman chastised him much in the same way she would Neville.

Harry nodded and rather liked being called to task for a blunder made in a magical community rather than for some feigned muggle reason by his relatives. It made him feel normal. Bit by bit he began to appreciate the magnitude of the gift Mrs. Longbottom presented him in giving him two days of freedom.

“But it’s not fair if I don’t pay my way,” he chose to argue.

“My dear. Exactly when did I say I expected you to reimburse me for a trip you never planned and one that just got sprung on you this morning?”

Harry opened his mouth.

“I didn’t,” the elderly woman snapped at him. “You are our guest, Harry. How impolite would it be of me to whisk you from your house and then demand payment? Sounds more like a kidnapping than celebration.”

Harry wisely closed his mouth and kept it shut.

“Ah, you learn quickly,” Mrs. Longbottom said to him in a smug manner. “Now, to a meal for us.”

They strolled along the busy northeast side of Mobius Street. People passed them by and never gave Harry a second glance. He hugged Neville’s arm to him. Neville looked over at his boyfriend and grinned. Harry appeared excited, mystified, and stunned by the experience. He knew it would lead to an interesting conversation later in the night. Neville wanted Harry to experience as much as he could over the next two days, experiences Neville realized he took for granted far too often.

The trio soon arrived in front of an establishment designed to look like an enormous cave set in the side of mountain. Windows faced outward from just inside the interior. Harry saw people sitting at tables dressed in all manner of clothing. He no longer felt self-conscious about his attire. In fact, he caught a number of other children pointing at his Oasis shirt, but not out of disgust. They seemed intrigued by the design on it. However, his attention got directed to the name of the restaurant, appearing as if chiseled in the rock above the windows and announcing it at Kellar’s Cellar.

“Stay here boys while I go have my name added to the wait list,” Mrs. Longbottom told them, and scooted off to talk to a dwarf seated on a high chair behind a high desk.

“You’re gonna love this place, Harry,” Neville said in an eager voice. “Whatever you want, even if they say they never heard of it before, you can get. I’ve made up stuff and they brought it to me. The chef they’ve got here is an amazing food wizard.”

“Food wizard?” Harry asked with a good dose of skepticism.

“Sure. It’s not just house elves who know how to cook. There’s loads of famous restaurants all over the world for our kind. You really don’t get out much, do you?”

Harry simply stared at Neville. Neville felt his heart sink as he realized what he said. It slipped out as a common phrase, but the nature of the company he kept skipped his mind for a moment.

“Um, sorry. Forget I said that,” Neville said in glanced down while his face turned red.

Harry snorted, and his boyfriend looked up at him. Harry tried to hold in his laughter, but it came out in short bursts. Neville’s eyebrows drew together in consternation.

“Lighten up, Neville,” Harry said and chuckled. “It was funny. I know you didn’t mean anything by it.”

Neville shook his head.

“And you’re right: I don’t get out any at all. Besides going to Snogwarts, Snogsmeade, The Bunghole, and back to the Dursleys, I’ve never really been anywhere else… except for the muggle places my aunt and uncle take me to when they have to, but there’s nothing exciting about that,” he expounded on his first answer since his boyfriend seemed a bit put out.

“Can I say something without upsetting…”

“Boys,” Mrs. Longbottom said in an imperious tone as she approached them. “We’ve only have a few minutes to wait. Now, what was Harry having a fit about?”

“Just something funny Neville said,” Harry answered first. “He didn’t know it was funny when he said it, and that made it funnier.”

“Ha, ha,” Neville snarkily mumbled, yet he did not relinquish Harry’s hand.

“Like an unintentional pun?” His grandmother rhetorically inquired, but did not wait for an answer. “Could you do me one small favor and look down at your hands?”

Both teenagers immediately bowed their heads. Harry saw the golden glow around their touching appendages. He sneaked a glance at Neville, and Neville looked worried.

“Tell me then, do you see your, ah, shine?” The woman further inquired.

They slowly nodded their heads.

“Interesting. I cannot see it. It seems Filius was more understanding of your situation than I realized. I will have to send him a note of thanks,” Mrs. Longbottom stated, but it seemed she spoke only to herself. “Did Neville inform you of the limitations of this eatery?”

“Oh… ah, I think so. He said I can order anything I can think of and they’ll cook it up for me,” Harry repeated what his boyfriend told him.

“Yes, and therein lies the problem. You will hear and see some people ordering both disgusting and ridiculous fare in an effort to test the chef and cooks here or to entertain their dining companions. I would caution you to not make the same mistake,” she said and fixed him with another of her paralyzing gazes. “They will bring you exactly what you order, so be specific when ordering.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Harry replied almost as automatically as Neville.

“Hey! What team?” A voice yelled in their vicinity.

None of the trio reacted.

“No, you. The one with the silver snatch necklace. Which team?”

Harry glanced around and saw another teenaged boy looking at him while tapping his neck. Harry looked down at the pendant Mrs. Longbottom loaned him. He smiled as only a single answer came to mind.

“Bulgarian National!” He loudly replied.

The boy with hair three shades of blonde looked aghast and made a horrible face.

“Kum is the best!” Harry quickly added with an air of bravura.

“You would know,” Neville mumbled at him and snickered.

“Traitor! Traitor!” The boy shouted back with a smile on his face.

Harry noticed the Irish club shirt the other boy wore and yelled: “Yeah, all right. The Irish are pretty slick, but… Kum!”

The kid smiled and gave him a thumbs up. Harry returned the gesture. Mrs. Longbottom rolled her eyes, but a crack of a smile showed on her lips. Neville nudged him.

“Quit it,” Harry chuckled the words.

“Harry’s a great skeeter on our house team. He’s pretty wicked on a broom,” Neville said with evident pride in his boyfriend.

“As I’ve heard… many, many times,” his grandmother drolly remarked.

Mrs. Longbottom’s named got called in short order. They got lead by a young woman to a seat in the middle of restaurant. While Neville said he preferred a window table, Harry stated he liked where they got seated. Being surrounded by a vast array of witches and wizards, young and old, of every imaginable stripe appealed to Harry. Again, it made him feel normal, especially since none of them paid one bit of interest in him. Shortly after they got seated a waiter approached, took their drink order, and twirled his wand in the air. As their drinks arrived, he asked what they would like to eat.

“Neville, since it is your birthday today,” Mrs. Longbottom began, and Harry realized she said it on purpose when the waiter began to grin, “you may order first.”

“Thanks, Gran,” Neville politely rejoined and the stared at the waiter. “All right. A north highlands wyvern stew with the onion and mushroom brown gravy and fried diced parsnips heaped over it. Some roasted green beans sprinkled with olive oil, minced garlic, and dill… and a side of Irish brown bread for dipping.”

“Looks like someone’s eaten here before,” the waiter said as a quill floating just off his shoulder scribbled down the order on a floating notepad. “Madam?”

“Your house spring leak salad with gorgonzola cheese, not too hard please, with shaved radish and carrots on top, and drizzle over with that wonderful lemon and poppy seed vinaigrette,” Mrs. Longbottom recited with a look of anticipation on her face. “Oh, and some toasted troll-stomped pane bread.”

“Very good, madame. Very good, indeed,” the waiter, dressed in what looked like the pants and vest of a suit gone out of style fifty years before, but yet fitting for the venue. “And young sir?”

“Okay, I saw this on a muggle telly once, and I’ve wanted some ever since,” Harry said and thought very carefully. “It’s an American macaroni and cheese ‘cept the sauce is made with sharp cheddar and a white cheese that sounds sort of like fondue…”

“Fontina?” The waiter suggested.

“Yeah, that’s the one, but it’s smoked. So that’s the sauce. Then I want some Italian spicy ham diced up into it and the whole lot baked ‘til there’s a crust on the top. Then sprinkle some American bacon bits on the top of it. And add some of those beans Neville asked for on the side, too. Can you do that, please?”

“We’d be happy to.”

“Thanks!” Harry gushed.

“We should have your order up in no time,” the waiter told them with a small bow of his head, and exited the side of the table.

“Expertly done, Harry,” Neville’s grandmother said with a note of approval in her voice.

“Now I want what you’re having,” Neville in an envious voice.

“You can have half if I can have some of your stew. I’ve never had wyvern before. Is it good?” Harry gleefully responded.

The two boys got into a discussion about the food they ordered. Neville seemed interested in the program Harry watched, but he saw it years before and could only remember the dish they prepared. Mrs. Longbottom let them chatter away. It pleased her to see her grandson so animated after weeks of lethargy and isolating himself in his room or garden. To her it indicated the depth of feeling he held for Harry. She suspected Harry fared no better, if not worse, at his aunt and uncle’s house. Only because she knew why Harry needed to stay there did she keep from notifying the Ministry of Magic to get him removed. She did not lie when she told the Dursleys half of the wizarding world would gladly take their nephew into their homes. Augusta Longbottom believed the Weasleys would vie for the top of the list.

When their food arrived, Harry asked for two side plates. They floated over to the table. He saw several people look approvingly at their meals. Without needing to be asked a second time, he began to shovel an ample supply of macaroni and cheese onto one of the plates. The smell that reached his nose made him salivate. Neville followed suit and filled the other plate with a goodly portion of his stew. The boyfriends exchanged the plates, and both of them inhaled deeply of the aromas. Harry offered some of his fare to Mrs. Longbottom, but she politely declined. The three then tucked into their meals.

Nearly an hour later Harry and Neville leaned back in their chairs. Despite over a month of limited eating, the each managed to finish half of their meals. Mrs. Longbottom did not find it surprising they could not eat the entire portions, aside from the fact Kellar’s Cellar did not skimp. The waiter brought travel cartons to the table on his own initiative. Harry and Neville scooped the rest of the meals into them. Mrs. Longbottom quietly sent them back to her house and into the cold chest. Harry worried when the tab arrived, and he got a minor scolding for doing so. He feared they would spend far too much money on him when simply getting away from the Durleys seemed the greatest gift anyone could receive.

“Now, since it is Neville’s birthday today…” Mrs. Longbottom began to say.

A group of waiters and waitresses noisily assaulted their table. The sang poorly, some sang a different song altogether, played small instruments poorly, the group failed at finding a shared tempo, and made a happy riotous cacophony to announce a birthday. Harry snorted with mirth as he watched his boyfriend turn multiple shades of red, but he also saw a genuine smile on Neville’s face. When the wait staff finished, and they received a hearty round of applause from many diners, they presented Neville with a small chocolate cake sprinkled with coconut. A single candle on the top fizzed, whizzed, and banged. Neville tried to blow it out, but it put up a fight and shot sparks at him. Onlookers cheered him on. After four attempts, Neville emptied an entire lungful of air forcefully at the candle until it waived a white flag, surrendered, and went out in a puff. Neville also received a round of applause.

“Piece of cake, Gran?” Neville offered her first.

“Thank you, but no. I am pleasantly full at this time,” his grandmother replied while eyeing the cake with a wary expression.

“Have a piece, Harry?”

“Yes, please, but make it small. I’m kind of stuffed, too,” Harry agreed.

Neville served up the portions. Both Harry and Neville sagged with love for the desert once they started eating it. Harry could not remember ever eating a better chocolate cake. His aunt lacked any real skill in the kitchen, and Harry never got to sample Dudley’s cakes.

“Now, as I was saying before the display got started,” the elderly woman picked up from her last attempt. “Neville, what would you like to do this afternoon. Within reason, you may pick whatever activity you wish.”

“Fantastic!” Neville said through a half-chewed mouthful of cake, and it earned him a severe glare from his grandmother. He swallowed before continuing. “I know this may sound boring, but I’d really like to go the Scamander Animal Preserve and Sanctuary. I don’t think Harry’s been there before, and I read they have a couple of new exhibits.”

“Come on, Neville, you don’t have to do this for me. Pick something you want to do,” Harry exhorted his boyfriend as he prepared to eat his last bite of cake and wondered if he might throw-up from overeating.

“I assure you, Harry, this is not for your benefit, at least not in a large part,” Mrs. Longbottom told him in her controlled manner. “You and I could drop him off there, go on a holiday to Majorca for a week, come back, and he would not realize we left.”

“I’d notice… in a day or two… maybe three,” Neville said with mock indignity.

Harry laughed, and even Neville’s grandmother smirked in response.

“Harry, I know Hagrid’s classes can be kind of scary, but you’re going to love this place. It’s amazing. It’s nothing like the muggle zoos you’ve been to and told me about,” the teenager celebrating his birthday said with marked enthusiasm.

“Sounds grand,” Harry replied and grinned. He loved seeing Neville when one of his interests piqued.

“Good thing I remembered the membership card,” Mrs. Longbottom drolly commented. “I hope this one isn’t worn out like the last two.”

Neville turned a light pink, but he grinned in a semi-maniacal fashion.

Once they left the restaurant, they needed to take a magic bus since the distance exceeded Mrs. Longbottom’s apparating range. The animal sanctuary sat comfortably contained in the Peak District National Park northwest of Sheffield and due west of Ewden. Neville spoke at length how the location offered a multitude of terrains suitable for wide variety of magical animals. Moreover and because it acted as a preserve, the muggles got blocked from entering. The spells placed over the entire area ensured non-magical folk could not accidentally see the preserve, and it kept the noises of the animals (as well as the animals) from escaping. The wild half hour ride passed mostly with Neville talking about the preserve.

Any preconceptions Harry possessed prior to arriving got obliterated when he actually saw the park. It occupied several square kilometers containing a number of rivers. The park did not appear designed for people since the humans got placed in walkways covered with protective spells. The animals roamed freely about their large enclosures suitably altered to mimic their natural environments. Harry read about Newt Scamander as a matter of course at Snogwarts. The man taught at the school and retired just a year before Harry and Neville arrived. Seeing what the man accomplished with the preserve and sanctuary gave the young man new respect for the famed wizard on top of all the other acts the older man did for their kind.

“Now, since I’ve visited here more times than I ever thought I would in one life time, I am going to visitors center where I am going to relax, have a nice cup of tea, and catch up on some reading,” she said to them. “This means you will not be under direct supervision, and I fully expect you to be on your absolute best behaviors. I hope I do not need to list the reasons why?”

“No, ma’am,” Harry and Neville said together.

“I want you to enjoy yourselves, but please bear in mind at all times your… special circumstances.”

“Yes, ma’am,” they again repeated in unison.

“Well, off with you then. You know where to find me if you run out of things to see or when the sanctuary closes,” she commanded them, and promptly turned and walked in another direction.

“Neville, is she being nice to let us go off on our own or does she really just want to sit and have tea?” Harry inquired when the woman traveled far from earshot.

“Honestly, I can’t tell sometimes. She’s pretty spry for a sixty-year old woman, but maybe she just wants to sit,” Neville gave an inconclusive answer.

“Just so you know: I like her, and not because she done all this for me. She loves you, Neville, and that’s all that matters to me. At least she made you a home you can be comfortable in.”

“Glad one of us gets it.”

Harry frowned at his boyfriend.

“It’s funny, but she changed some when she found out about you and me. You know she was worried I was heading the same way as Percy?”

“So was Ron, but I sort of always knew you weren’t, and especially when we started tossing off together.”

“We really can’t talk about that,” Neville implored him.

“What? Embarrassed of our past?”

“No, Harry! I’m so damn randy for you I can’t keep it down most of the time. Even just talking about tossing off with you is turning my wand into staff.”

Harry laughed at the euphemism. He threw an arm around Neville’s neck, easier now since the transfiguration spell made him taller and Neville a bit shorter. He dragged his boyfriend to the first exhibit they could reach. Once Neville got talking about the animals and the plants used to feed them, Harry knew Neville’s excitement would shift from his crotch to his brain.

The number of visitors surprised Harry at first until he became completely engrossed in the experience. The creatures he saw, and none would be permanently kept unless faced with immediate extinction, staggered his mind. Reading about the beasts in books, or even the limited examples Hagrid displayed, could not convey the complexity or real nature of the animals. His first-hand experience with the acromantula, a dragon, and a hippogriff taught him that much. Thus, he joined the throngs of others and Neville in pressing his face against the magical barriers to get a better look.

About an hour into their slow progress through the sanctuary, and Harry realized they would get to see a bare third of it by the time it closed for the evening, Neville pulled him aside and looked panicked. They stood against a wall, and Neville pointed into the crowd. At first it annoyed Harry, but then he saw what caused Neville’s reaction.

“Crap, it’s Pucey,” Harry muttered and felt his intense dislike for the Slytherin student well up inside of him. Most of his animus toward the young man stemmed from their meetings on the fappitch pitch.

“What are we going to do?” Neville asked in a voice mixed with several emotions.

Harry turned to address his boyfriend and started snicker.

“What in blazes is so funny, Harry?”

“Well, for starters, take a good look at me.”

Neville peered at him with a frown, and it slowly shifted. He started to smile.

“See what I mean?” Harry asked and emphasized the first word.

“Forgot about the charms. I sort of got used to you looking like Macmillan’s shorter, scrawny cousin,” Neville said with a chuckle.

“Well, I can guarantee you Pucey never saw me like this. He’d need to be half-goblin to even notice.”

Thus, with a crisis averted, they returned to examining the animals. Neville wanted to go see the amphibians, fish, and reptiles. Harry agreed, but he hoped none of the snakes decided to start a conversation with him. The building storing the creatures got them out of the sun, and the cool temperature felt nice. Many people went in to escape the summer heat rather than look over the collection. Neville, however, wanted to see the creatures. He read every plaque and studied the plants in each exhibit. Several times he dragged Harry around to examine one species or another.

“Hey, Harry, you know you could get them riled up,” Neville quietly stated as they stared at a pair of ouroboros snakes lying in their pen with their tails in their mouths.

“Not funny, Neville,” Harry grumbled at him. “That’d be a great way to announce who I am. Not like there’s a lot of parsel tongues in the world, and everyone knows about me because of that Skeeter woman during the tournament.”

“I wasn’t serious,” his boyfriend said in a slightly defensive tone.

“I know… but it was already worrying me when we came in here. Did I ever tell you what happened the summer before we started at Snogwarts?”

Neville shook his head. Harry quickly relayed the story of setting a snake loose at a muggle zoo during a trip to one for his cousin’s birthday. As the number of ironic similarities began to pile up, Neville began appear uncomfortable and started apologizing for the joke. Harry waved him off.

“No, don’t apologize. You didn’t know. I didn’t mean to be a wet blanket in here,” he continued to try and move past the moment.

“Do you want to leave?” Neville asked.

“Do you want to stay? It’s your birthday, and I’m sorry I got touchy. We do what you want to do today.”

His boyfriend gave him a strange look, and asked: “Seriously? All day?”

“At least ‘til midnight, and then it’s my turn,” Harry replied and reminded him.

“But until then…?”

“Whatever you want,” he said and then saw the look on Neville’s face. “Ah… am I going to regret making that promise.”

“I don’t know. We’ll have to see now, won’t we?” Neville answered and snickered.

Harry leaned forward and gave him a kiss. Neville immediately responded to it. When they finally broke it off because Harry realized he could not control his physical reaction, he said: “Be creative when we do.”

Neville raised as single eyebrow, and it made him appear more devilish. Harry chuckled, but he began to wonder what might lurk in the depths of his boyfriend’s imagination. Part of him, the part ignited by the kiss, wanted to find out right away. Instead, they returned to their leisurely stroll through the cold-blooded animals exhibit.

When they returned to the out of doors, and it felt sweltering after the cool, moist environment in the building, Neville studied a park map. He poked at it, and it told him what they could expect to find at various points. He frowned a bit.

“Where are the special exhibits?” He asked the map.

“Special exhibits can be found in these locations,” the map responded. “Please note the diaphanous broadwings are brooding, and anyone allergic to gossamer crystal spall should avoid that area.”

“Um, Harry, I wanted to ask about this one first,” Neville said and pointed to the map.

Harry glanced over and rolled his eyes.

“Do you mind? I mean after the first challenge and the maze…”

“It’s all right,” he interjected. “Besides, the map says this is a peace zone and most are just passing through. Should be safe enough, and I’ll wager they got a lot of dragon-proof spells in place.”

“Are you sure?” Neville pressed the point.

Harry started walking in the direction of the dragon exhibit. Neville trotted to catch him. It surprised him that not many people went to see the dragons. He thought it would be a huge draw. As they got closer, he began to understand. The high sun and hot day made the dangerous and other enormous creatures sleepy. The ones they could see lounged and slept on rocks warmed by the sun. The small lagoon rippled with motion as the less heat-tolerant species cooled off in the water. Most, however, simply sprawled about the place opened to them. Neville read parts of the sign to him.

“Apparently most of the dragons know who Scamander is and agreed to make this a peace zone,” Neville summarized. “There hasn’t been a single incident since it opened. They’re thinking about making it permanent and year-round. I wonder if relations are getting better.”

“I don’t know,” Harry muttered and glanced around to make certain no one stood too close by. “Lord Pusztító didn’t seem like he wanted peace. He was pretty angry after the first challenge. That’s why he agreed do the maze: he thought it would give him a chance to kill some humans.”

“I can’t imagine how you faced that thing without crapping all over yourself.”

“I didn’t eat before the challenges or I would have. Don’t forget I got covered in dragon shit,” Harry reminded his boyfriend.

He could tell Neville tried to keep from laughing. He grinned. Neville started snickering.

“It’s funny now, but at the time… Neville, what is it?” Harry began to say and then changed tact when he saw the expression rapidly shift into one of panic on the broad, swarthy face.

“Um, turn around. Fast!” Neville directed him.

Harry turned around just in time to see a dragon coming winging in toward the walkway. People started getting excited by the sudden activity, but Harry felt his heart sink. He tried to back up, but too many bodies prevented his escape.

“No!” He heaved. “Impossible!”

A Hungarian horny-tail flew in right next to the protected path. It propped one pinion claw on the magical barrier and looked down at the mass of people. The humans started to react in a typical manner when such a fearsome and large beast makes an appearance: they began to edge away.

“What ill fortune besets me, man-child, that again brings us together?” The dragon said as it lowered its head to stare directly at Harry.

A hush fell over the crowd. Eyes darted back and forth between the dragon and the person it addressed.

“Greetings, Lord Pusztító,” Harry said and bowed. “I, um, hope you’re, ah, doing well.”

“It is my burden I must attend to matters in this wretched land. How dost thou withstand one season to the next, Ha…”

“Please, lord dragon, there’s a reason why I’m, ah, dressed like this,” Harry tried to forestall the dragon giving away his identity.

“Ah, a ruse. I wondered why thou did bandy about like a montebank.”

“I’m just out for a day of relaxation, and this helps.”

The dragon twisted its head from side to side, clearly studying him. People began to whisper in the background. Lord Pusztító growled and showed teeth. The crowd quieted down.

“It confuses my eye, man-child. I thought thee eschewed duplicity?” The dragon inquired.

“Avoided deception,” Neville whispered next to his head.

“Silence deceiver,” Lord Pusztító said to Neville. “Thou are under a similar enchantment.”

Neville drew closer to Harry, and his fingers dug into Harry’s bicep.

“Is there any way we can, um, just sort of skip this part of the conversation, lord dragon?” Harry begged.

“Perhaps, yet I am intrigued. When last I spied thee thou wert befuddled by a circumtantibus spell. To whence did it take thee?”

“A nightmare travel spell? Who’d use something like that?” A voice said somewhere behind and to his left.

Harry stored that bit of information and said: “To a cemetery. Someone’s idea of joke.”

The dragon rumbled.

“Lord Pusztító?”

“Thou art withholding from me, man-child. I have come to know thee as one of the few who speaks with honest intent. Why for dost thou act in such a bedeviled manner?” Lord Pusztító inquired and sounded agitated.

Harry glanced around at the interested group of people. He needed to weigh his words carefully lest he offend the dragon, an act he truly wished to avoid, or reveal himself. He sighed and considered the most honest approach.

“Because this conversation is a threat to me, lord dragon. If we were in some other place, some other time… I can’t go into detail or it will go badly for me,” Harry pleaded with dread beast.

“In this thou spake truthfully. If thou has needs, parley with me and I will rid thee of those who would give thee offense. It shan’t be but a moment to break these spells separating us. Give to me thy word, and the deed is done,” the dragon rumbled, and it sound more like a promise than a threat.

“No, no. I don’t need you to kill anyone for me, Lord Pusztító. This is a peace zone, and we should respect that. Newt Scamander worked too hard to make this place safe for all of us,” he resorted to reason.

However pleasant he tried to sound, the dragon’s words inspired fear in the majority of the people standing around him. Most departed as quickly as they could to find their family and friends. Soon a bare dozen waited to see what happened next.

“Tell me, H… he who is known to me, dost thou rue the return of the split one? Already he works his foul ways.”

Harry pondered the question and decided the dragon could only mean one thing.

“It is true. Holdequart is back and doing his thing.”

Five of the remaining people gasped when he said the name, and they also departed the scene.

“This should provide amusement while I am forced to tarry in thy lands,” Lord Pusztító burbled the words. “I see this brings troubles to thee, man-child.”

“It brings troubles to most humans,” Harry corrected.

“And thee? What role is thou taking in these events?”

Harry again shift his gaze around. Although only a handful of strangers remained in attendance to the unexpected meeting with the dragon, he still did not wish to give away too much. Yet Lord Pusztító seemed in a fickle mood, but, then again, Harry thought, the dragon always seemed fickle. Before he could answer, Neville nudged him. Harry looked over, and he saw what could drag his attention away from the terrifying beast hovering on the other side of the magical barrier. Several men and women dressed in desert tan robes approached them at a fast pace.

The dragon growled when the people converged on them with wands drawn.

“Alright, who got the dragon riled?” One woman inquired, and she served the park if the insignia sewn into her robes meant anything.

“Riled? Fie on thee. This whelp is known to me,” Lord Pusztító rumbled and bobbed his head toward Harry. “We were but having an exchange of words.”

Most of the park employees turned disbelieving faces to Harry and Neville.

“Yes, I know this dragon. We’ve had, ah, dealings in the past,” Harry said as little as he could.

“Man-child, with thy leave I could give them example of a riled dragon,” Lord Pusztító offered in what sounded like a humorous tone.

“Do you really hate humans that much?”

“Why should I not? Hast thou forgotten what sport thy kind made with mine?”

“No. No, I didn’t. The reminder sits next to my bed. That is something I will never, ever forget,” Harry said and shivered at the memory.

The dragon chuckled, or at least made an amused sound.

“What have we here?” A thin, slightly reedy voice asked. Somehow it commanded the attention of the park employees who turned toward the source. “Two adolescents having a nice chat.”

Harry also glanced at the speaker, a wizened old man who wore a suit of a style so far out of date, it already passed through a second and third fashionable phase. The earth tones of the fabric blended well with the colors of the park staff. It did not take much to see he did, indeed, command the respect of those around him. Neville seemed to go into shock.

“Adolescent?” Harry sputtered and swung back around to the dragon. “You're the same age as me?”

“Stay thyself from being a simpleton, man-child. For five centuries now have I roamed the skies!” Lord Pusztító said in an affronted manner.

Neville started pulling at Harry’s shirt, but Harry’s attention got occupied by the new wrinkle. Something about the man’s face seemed familiar, yet he could not place it. Unlike everyone else, including Harry, he did not seem disturbed in the least to be speaking with a dragon.

“Ah, but which skies and for how long?” The old man asked and chuckled. “When were you first granted permission to leave your whelping ground?”

“Thou art known to me as well, old mortal. I saw thee once making an entreaty to my kin. Dost thou know what troubles thee visited upon us?”

Harry craned his head around to watch the old man place a hand over his heart and bow his head.

“And for that I beg your forgiveness. I’ve been working to make restitution, I swear this to you, Garhend…? I’m sorry, I do not recall your name,” the old man said.

“Thou mayest address me as Pusztító, wizard.”

“Ah, the Destroyer. What of your shell name?”

“That still belongs only to me,” the dragon said with a touch more defensiveness than Harry thought wise to extract from the creature.

“Well, Garhend Pusztító, I need to speak with this young man… and apparently the other, but I will return them to you post haste if you wish,” the man said without asking permission to end the conversation.

“I am done with this one. Thou may takest him form my sight. He dost offend me with his guise. I bid thee good-bye, whelp, and may leagues stand between us for the rest of thy days,” Lord Pusztító grumbled at him. “Get thee hence with this one, Harry Potter.”

The last of the crowd and the park staff gasped and stared at Harry. Harry watched the dragon leap away and fly a short distance back to the rocks where he warmed himself. With fear gurgling in his stomach, he forced himself to face the old man.

“So, is it really Harry Potter hiding behind that face?” The old man said with a grin twitching on the edges of his mouth. “A pleasure, young man. I am Newt Scamander… in case you’re interested.”


	5. Chapter 5

Fifteen minutes later Harry and Neville found themselves sitting in a large office with many overstuffed bookshelves, a number of large tables covered over with books and sheets of paper, and so many interesting trinkets Neville did not know where to begin or end looking. Augusta Longbottom sat in comfortable wing-back chair looking a bit put out. Harry wanted to crawl under one of the desks and avoid everyone’s gaze. Newt Scamander sat in a seat close to Mrs. Longbottom.

“Well, I’ll be, Augusta Max… well, I should say Longbottom. I heard you and he decided to mix blood,” Newt said as if addressing an old friend.

“Professor Scamander…”

“No, please, Augusta, just call me Newt. My teaching days are behind me now. I’ve thought of a few more books I’d like to pen before I decide to take my final leave,” the old man said with a smile. “You look well.”

“I am… Newt, and about my grandson and his boyfriend, I am sorry,” Augusta Longbottom with honest contrition.

“Why apologize?” Newt inquired and looked slightly shocked. “Do you realize how rare it is for someone as young as Harry… please, I don’t understand why I can’t recognize you. I’ve seen your photograph enough in the papers to recognize you on sight.”

“They are wearing charms to disguise their appearance, and to keep Harry’s location from being discovered. I’m sure you know he has some formidable enemies,” the older woman stated.

“Oh my, yes, I am well versed in his situation. But surely you know he cannot be traced here? The entire conservatory is unplottable and masked.”

“I am aware of that, but do you know each person who wanders through your park, Newt?”

Newt Scamander shifted his gaze around before saying: “Excellent point, Augusta, but I would so like to actually meet Mister Potter face-to-face, and your grandson, if you are amenable. I can assure you they will come to no harm here, and their whereabouts cannot be traced to this office… or anywhere in the park.”

Mrs. Longbottom looked first at her grandson who sat frozen on a chair staring wide-eyed at the elderly famed wizard. Then she cast her eyes on Harry, and he seemed horribly embarrassed by the entire situation. However, few would deny Professor Newton Scamander his requests.

“Neville, Harry, come over here,” she said and pointed to the spot on the floor where she wanted them to stand.

Harry moved, but Neville did not. Harry did not have the same starstruck demeanor as his boyfriend after encountering the likes of Tom Widdle and Lord Pusztító. Thus, he went over and physically hauled Neville to his feet. Then he dragged him to the location indicated.

“Now, place your non-dominant hand on the pendant and say I am feeling more myself now,” Mrs. Longbottom instructed them.

Harry raised his hand. When Neville did not, he elbowed the teenager. Neville shot him a dirty look and lifted his hand.

“I am feeling more myself now,” Harry said.

“I am feeling more myself now,” Neville also said.

The same odd sensation when the charms took affect rippled through his body. Newt Scamander grinned at them like a child discovering a new toy. He actually clapped a little when the transfiguration ended.

“Marvelous. Marvelous. That is very complex magic, Augusta,” the man gleefully stated.

“It’s mostly the work of Filius Flitwick,” Mrs. Longbottom told him.

“Ah, Filius, so very clever that one is,” Professor Scamander said with honest respect in his voice. Then he scanned the two boys. “I can see so much of Frank in your grandson, and this one looks like equal parts Lily and James. Beautiful eyes.”

Harry goggled at the man.

“Ah, he doesn’t realize I had them as students, and that I, too, worked against The Dork Lord,” the old man told them in low tones. “It pained me to learn of their fates, all four… well, actually eight. Except I hear Sirius is running about free again.”

“The Ministry is quite worried about that,” Mrs. Longbottom flatly said.

“He’s innocent,” Harry instantly jumped to the defense of his godfather, and his father’s husband. “It was Peter Pottybrew that betrayed my blood parents… and Pottybrew helped engineer Holdequart’s return. He’s the one who worked the ritual.”

Harry held out his arm that still bore a long white line of a scar running from the crook of his arm to his wrist.

“He is a feisty one, isn’t he?” Scamander said, stood, and held out his hand. “It is such pleasure to meet both of you. Still, I am curious to know how you came to the attention of that particular dragon? You seem to have made an impression on him.”

After shaking the hand of the famed wizard, and Neville looked ready to vomit when his turn arrived, Harry gave a quick synopsis of what occurred at the first and third Bi-Wizard Tournament challenges. Newt Scamander appeared less than pleased to hear the stories. He seemed angry when Harry finished.

“First, please take a seat,” the man said as he regained his chair. Harry and Neville arranged themselves at his request. “That is deplorable. Truly deplorable to treat dragons like that, or any creature for that matter. I will have a word with the Ministry to put a stop to it. It could threaten all the accords we’ve worked so hard to build with the dragons.”

“Lord Pusztító did kill one of the handlers at the tournament,” Harry said and wondered on which side the famed magizoologist would fall.

“Tragic that, but it could’ve been avoided. Dragons should not be used for such… cruel enterprises,” Newt said in a low tone. “However, that you relieved the dragon of his discomfort and freed him explains his interest in you, Harry. You may want to consider cultivating that into an honest friendship. This… Lord Pusztító seems agreeable to the idea.”

“He is? But it looks more like he wants to eat me,” Harry nervously countered.

“That he did not is more important than what he threatens. He is young and just learning about the world. It is explains why he got captured in the first place. Hungarian horny-tails are rather wily and wickedly smart.”

“Professor Scamander,” Neville said with a quavering voice. “You called the dragon an adolescent. How old is it?”

“Astute question, Neville. I suspect this is his first time out of the mountain valley of his birth and where he got raised. So perhaps around five hundred years as he said, give or take a decade or two. I should think he is frightfully embarrassed by all that happened to him and probably wishes to secure Harry’s silence on the incident,” the learned man told them.

“Probably by eating me,” Harry complained.

“Far from it, Harry!” The professor exclaimed. “No, he is oath-bound to you if what you said is entirely factual. Lord… Pusztító cannot kill you under pain of death unless and until you first break the vow. Given you kept your word and freed him, you’ve nothing to fear from that one. You’ve made a life-long guarantee of your safety when he is about unless you chose to free him from it.”

Harry gaped at the man. He never considered the full ramifications of the promise he got from the dragon. To hear it would last all the days of life gave him a bit of comfort.

“Lucky you, Harry,” Neville sarcastically quipped.

“Shut up,” he rejoined in a playful manner.

“Now you’ve just got to snuggle up to that dragon and hope he doesn’t want to bugger you.”

“Neville Longbottom!” Neville’s grandmother rounded on him for the coarse joke.

“No human could survive a sexual encounter with a dragon,” Professor Scamander said without any levity. “Firstly, they mate only high in the air, so you’d either suffocate or freeze to death. Then the fall would kill you if the dragon let go of you and lost you in a cloud. However, dragon penises are not that large, but many have shapes that would likely eviscerate a person if coitus did occur. Most dragon semen is also poisonous to humans or tends to act like acid, so there is that to considered as well.”

Harry felt nauseated. Neville chuckled. Mrs. Longbottom looked offended.

“Yes, an ugly end I should say, and I would strongly recommend against any attempt at coupling with a dragon if you are, ah, so inclined,” the man concluded.

“Eck! I am not inclined in any way, shape, or form,” Harry protested while his boyfriend went into a fit of giggling. Harry elbowed him again, and it made Neville laugh all the harder.

Newt Scamander smiled at them.

“Boys, please,” Mrs. Longbottom scolded them.

“Augusta, let them be. Isn’t it refreshing to be in the presence of young love?” The man countered her.

“Within reason, Newt,” she stood her ground. “These two have taken it a bit further than most.”

“How is that?”

“Neville, Harry, I think Professor Scamander deserves to see what you’ve gotten yourselves into,” the woman dryly commanded them.

Harry held out his hand to the still giggling teenager. Neville took it and squeezed. Almost in unison they each sighed as the magic sparked between them. All annoyances aside, the love he felt for Neville could not be denied, and Harry received proof Neville felt the same.

“Astounding!” Newt Scamander whispered and leaned forward in his chair. “How long?”

“At least since February,” Mrs. Longbottom said as her grandson and Harry started to press their shoulders together. “Enough boys. This is not a place for you to get, ah, carried away with one another.”

“They could set off a mating frenzy in the conservatory if they did. Human illumitus amorem is infectious to a number of other species. We could get hit with a glut of newborns in the park come late winter, although… our breeding programs could use a boost and if they…”

“Newt! They are just teenagers!” Augusta Longbottom called him to task.

Harry and Neville failed at hiding their smirks, and the man grinned at them in return.

“Maybe in three or four years you can come back, and then we can discuss options,” the elderly wizard suggested through a grin.

“Boys, stop!”

By that point actual pips of light began to float around them. The command in the woman’s voice forced Harry and Neville to comply. With some effort they pushed away from each other and let their hands go. It showed on their faces how much the two missed the sensation once it ended.

“Truly astounding, Augusta. I would think you’d be in favor of a paring between your grandson and Harry. They seemed well-suited for one another,” Professor Scamander said and gave a boost to both teenagers.

“I’m not against it, if that is what you’re implying, Newt,” Neville’s grandmother responded.

“That is not what I would call a ringing endorsement.”

“Think back to when you were young. How many of your first romances survived?”

“Well, to be frank, no pun intended, but my first romance occurred when I was an adult, and that did not happen until after I returned to England from New York. So I can’t say I have any relevant experience in that regard,” the man blithely told him some of his private matters. “Moreover, I did marry that man, and then my dear friend and mother of our child started visiting, so I am not certain I am a good example of what may be considered normal. Perhaps your love life is better for making comparisons.”

Harry watched as a pink flush rose through Mrs. Longbottom’s face. Neville appeared entirely gobsmacked as he, too, witnessed it. It seemed so uncharacteristic of the woman who routinely displayed a very reserved and even severe demeanor. Harry wondered what went through her head to make her react. Neville’s thoughts mirrored Harry’s.

“Well, I think that’s enough of that discussion, and I’m sure we’ve taken up far too much of your time, Newt. It was very kind of you to introduce yourself to the boys,” the older woman said in a bit of a rush.

“Oh, it was my pleasure, and it’s been some time since I entertained guests in this office. But I was wondering if I could ask one small favor?”

“Certainly.”

“Well, my boy is something of fan, and I was wondering if I could maybe get an autograph from Harry?” Newt Scamander requested.

“Me? You want my autograph, but you’re Newt Scamander!” Harry declared in disbelief.

“Oh, I am certain of that, but my son, Loudoun, would truly appreciate it,” the man half-pleaded.

“Tell you what, Mr. Scamander, I’ll trade you one of mine if you give one to Neville. It’s his birthday, see, and it’d be special,” Harry offered a trade.

“Happy birthday, Neville, and it would be a treat to do that for you. Hold tight for one moment,” Professor Scamander said.

Harry, Neville, and Mrs. Longbottom watched as he scurried about his office with the vigor of a man half his age. Harry could not remember if Professor Scamander passed the century mark, but he clearly did not feel his years. The elderly man poked through low cupboards and in drawers. He even got down on his hands and knees to dig through one cupboard.

“Aha! Here’s one!” He sang out. “Knew I had some in here somewhere.”

Scamander stood and went to his desk. He sat, grabbed a quill, and started scribbling in what appeared to be a book. Two minutes later he stood while blowing on the page he signed. When he got close enough, he held out an empty hand to Neville. Neville accepted it.

“Happy birthday, dear boy. I wish you every success, and keep close to that one no matter what your grandmother says. It’s clear something drew you two together. Do not ignore the good omens when you find them,” the professor said while pumping Neville’s fist. “Please, accept this with my congratulations on this day of yours.”

He handed the book to Neville after ending the shake. Harry recognized it as a copy of the man’s first and most famous work, Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. Neville pulled back the cover and read the inscription. Harry saw water build in his boyfriend's eyes. When he looked up, one overflowed and the tear slid down his cheek.

“Professor Scamander, I don’t… thank you so very much,” Neville burbled.

“Please, Neville: it was the least I could do. Honestly, it was barely more than doing nothing at all,” Mr. Scamander told him. “Now, Harry, to your end of the arrangement.”

Harry followed the man to his desk. Neville handed the book to his mother while he watched the two walk away. It dawned on Neville he got to witness the meeting of two of the most famous wizards in all of England. Moreover, one, his boyfriend, managed to secure a personalized gift from the other, the magizoologist. He took Professor Scamander’s advice to heart. He loved Harry and could see no reason why they could not continue to walk together into the future. However, questions about his grandmother started to mount in his head.

“Wonderful! Spectacular! Loudoun will be so surprised. I am indebted, Mister Potter!” The elderly wizard nearly shouted. “I believe I shall present it to him for Yuletide. Do you think a nice frame would be suitable?”

“For my chicken scratching? A fire would be better if you want to know my opinion,” Harry replied.

Newt Scamander clapped him on the back in mirth and laughed. Together they walked around the desk and rejoined the Longbottoms. Mrs. Longbottom stared at Professor Scamander and seemed moved. Harry went to stand next to Neville.

“Newt, thank you,” she said and hefted the book a few times. “You’ve made his day.”

“I should think we made each other's day. At least that what’s Padrig used to tell me all the time, and I believe he had the right of it. I was never very good at making sense of this to-do between folk until he and Teenie came along. I always seemed to understand the animals much better,” the professor said and trailed off some at the end.

“We should be on our way, Professor. There’s still his birthday and dinner to attend to,” Mrs. Longbottom politely said.

“Yes, yes. Each to our own need, I suppose,” he said and brightened. “Do let me know if you plan to visit the conservatory again. I’d be more than happy to give you a personal tour.”

Harry’s eyes matched Neville’s when they heard that. They got even larger when Professor Scamander leaned over and gave Mrs. Longbottom a quick peck on the cheek. Then he stepped back and smiled at all of them.

“Tell you what. It seemed a tad of a bother that Harry’s disguise got undone,” the professor said as he tapped the side of his nose. “How about we send you through the Flue Network at least to London? Hmm? Would that help?”

“It would be most kind,” Mrs. Longbottom said, returning to form. “Before we do… Neville, Harry, restore the charms.”

Harry and Neville went through the motions until they resembled exchange students from Denmark and Italy. Professor Scamander cooed in appreciation as he watched the magic take hold. Once more he clapped a little when it finished. He then lead the trio to the enormous fireplace in the corner of his office. He showed them the pot of flue powder. Each took a handful and called out the name of the London Terminal. Harry disliked traveling by flue more than side-apparating. He always felt dirty afterward and in need a clean pair of socks. However, it offered a convenient way to travel from the Peak District to London, so they took it.

Following getting expelled by a fireplace and a harrowing but short magic bus ride, they returned to the Longbottom residence in Hughenden Valley. Harry got his first good look at the neighborhood. Few would recognize it as a mage community, but the subtle signs poked through. Harry grinned as the weathervane atop of the Longbottom house as it swung around and pointed at them. He suddenly realized the archer meant business until Mrs. Longbottom said something and it returned to pointing out the direction of the wind. The house painted in subdued tones of green and cream seemed inviting to Harry following an afternoon that managed to slide sideways at points.

“Okay, gentlemen, change clothes so I can set them to wash,” Mrs. Longbottom told them as they walked through the small enclosed porch into the house proper. “I don’t want soot tracked everywhere.”

“Yes, Gran,” Neville mechanically intoned.

“Yes, ma’am,” Harry said with more intention.

Harry followed his boyfriend to the bedroom. He again marveled at the contents of the room. Neville closed the door. They recited the pendant reversal spell and took them off. Neville carefully placed them on his desk. Then a wide smile crossed his face as he held out the book Newt Scamander signed.

“Harry, it’s a first edition from nineteen-twenty-seven,” Neville informed him with delight. “And a personalized message. It’s… mate, this is the best!”

Harry took the book and read the inscription:

My Esteemed Neville: Never forget that if something feels right for you, it likely is. Life will hand you a grand adventure if you only listen, follow, and stay true to your heart. May this be a joyous birthday for you. Your Friend, Newt Scamander. 30 July ‘95

“Core!” Harry breathed after reading and re-reading the words.

Neville carefully took the book, placed it gingerly on a bookshelf, and then caught Harry in his arms. The kiss that naturally followed felt fueled by a feugo spell. Harry’s body reacted so quickly it almost hurt, but he pressed himself as firmly against his boyfriend as he could. The sound of them virtually chewing on one another filled the room. He felt Neville’s bodily reaction against his own, and it simply made him grow more intense.

“Thank you,” Neville breathed at him when they parted to get some air.

“For what?” Harry asked.

“The best birthday ever. For starters, you’re here. And I never thought I’d talk to a dragon and meet Newt Scamander in the same day, and it’s because of you, Harry.”

“Yeah, um, remember what I said about getting into trouble without even trying and how other people get caught up in it? This is a good example. I thought things were going to go seriously wrong when Lord Pusztító saw through the disguise. What is he still doing in England anyway?”

“Who cares? I got to talk to a dragon… well, at least he talked to me, but it was so wicked seeing him up close. How’d you stop from pissing all over yourself during the challenge when he wanted to seriously kill you? That thing is big and scary!” Neville gushed at him.

Harry smirked, but said: “You really don’t get it, Neville. I never wanted to face a dragon. Not once, not twice, and certainly not three times. It might surprise you to hear I could’ve lived my whole life happy without that.”

“But without that we never would’ve met Professor Scamander.”

Sometimes Harry disliked the way Neville could find a positive aspect in what otherwise should be a miserable experience. He wanted to argue that he would rather see the whole park, but he could not deny the extraordinary luck in meeting the famed wizard.

“And think of it, Harry: he asked for your autograph! Newt Scamanader asked you, Harry Potter, for your autograph. That’s totally mental! And I got a signed book out of it! How more perfect is that?” Neville pressed on.

“When did you turn into such an optimist?” Harry grumbled.

“The first time you looked at me and said you wanted to sleep with me and meant it. I never once thought… don’t you get how amazing you are?” His boyfriend whispered. “I never forget, and I never forget how lucky I am and how much it changed my life, and…”

“We’re doing it again, Neville,” he interjected with a small laugh. “I’m standing here getting ready to tell you I was the one who got lucky. So, all right, we both got lucky, and we got lucky today and it really did turn out more special than I could’ve planned. But you deserve it putting up with all the insanity that comes along with me.”

Neville waggled his eyebrows.

“If you tell me it’s fun, I’m going to wrestle you to the ground and bite your nipples off!”

“Harry, you know I would do anything to help you. I’d face anything. I don’t care if it’s Holdequart or a dragon or even everyone in Slytherin house. I wouldn’t leave you to face it alone. Not ever!”

Harry dragged the face down to his level and soundly kissed it. He knew Neville meant every word, and he feared Neville would carry out each action. It scared him because Harry could not imagine he would ever let his boyfriend confront such danger and evil. Neville kissed him like a starving dog getting fed a meal. He returned the same. Heat built up between them, and tiny lights began to pop off of them. It did not take any thinking to begin hauling on Neville’s shirt while Neville yanked on the button of his pants. Although under orders to disrobe for different reasons, they stripped each other naked from love and want. Their clothes got tossed to the side and they pressed their flesh together.

“Cripes, I missed you… this,” Harry grunted as Neville rubbed his form against Harry’s.

“Yeah, missed everything about us,” Neville concurred as his mouth kissed the face and neck of the boy he adored.

Their passions exploded as they seemed to make every attempt at merging their bodies into one. Harry’s erection slid against Neville’s. After the slightly harrowing afternoon, he felt his needs rise to the surface. It did not matter that they satisfied one another earlier in the day: they recharged after all the events over the past several hours. Many ideas flooded through Harry’s brain, Neville’s as well, as Harry tried to slip his hand between their torso.

“Boys?” A knock at the door sounded around. “I need your clothes for the laundry, and don’t get flue powder all over your room, Neville.”

“Dammit,” Harry growled.

“Sorry,” Neville said and sounded even angrier. “Gran is Gran. She probably knows what we’re doing, but…”

Harry nodded when the lanky young man trailed off. Neville forced himself to carefully collect the clothing lying around them. Harry drank in the sight of his nude boyfriend. Nearly seven weeks of self-imposed semi-starvation burned what fat remained on his body completely away. Long sinew flowed under the skin. A lust for Neville nearly overwhelmed the teenager. He rigid member throbbed with want. It took Harry a moment to catch Neville looking at him in the exact same fashion. His organ also stood completely at attention, and a feral look rippled across the long face and in the gray-blue eyes.

“You know this is never going down if you stay dressed like that,” Harry said, pointing first to his penis and then to all of Neville.

“Dressed or not, I pretty sure I’m going to stay hard for the rest of the day,” Neville told him.

“My pajamas are going to fail horribly at hiding this.”

Neville drew his eyebrows together and they lowered over his eyes. Harry could all but hear the machinery in his boyfriend’s head start to whir. In less than half a minute, the taller naked male walked over to the tallboy chest of drawers. He pulled open one drawer after another, rifled through each, and eventually found that for which he searched. Neville held up two pair of white briefs with a y-opening on the front.

“Here, put these on,” he said to Harry and tossed him a pair.

Harry held them up and commented: “A bit small, don’t you think?”

“It’ll be snug, but they’ll keep everything up tight and out of the way. How do you think I got through first and second year living with you lot? You know our room stunk like sex almost every single day?”

“It did not… well, maybe. I mean we did get our jollies off quite a bit, except you,” Harry rejoined while stepping into the provided garment. When he got them in place, he tugged at the leg openings and at the waistband to loosen them up a bit. “Don’t you think this is taking the term tightie-whitey a bit far, Neville?”

“You’ll get used to it, and you’ll thank me when Gran can’t see your bits and pieces poking out,” Neville rejoined and then scowled at his boyfriend. “And what the bloody hell do you think I was doing under my covers all those years? Damn near rubbed my willy raw a couple of times a week.”

“I knew it! I knew it! I kept telling Ron you were tossing off under there.”

“I heard you, and I was.”

The two teenagers looked at each other and started to laugh. Harry lifted one leg and then the other and repeated the motion several times to get the tight undergarment to settle and stretch. Neville then went back to his dresser and rooted around again. He next produced two pairs of baggy shorts and held them up.

“Gray or blue?” Neville asked.

“Gray,” Harry instantly choose and neatly snagged the flying shorts out of the air.

After which he went to the drawer where Neville dumped his gear and grabbed a plain white tee-shirt he brought to sleep in. However, he did that mainly for show since he could not imagine he or Neville wearing any sleeping togs to bed that night. Once dressed and giving himself a look to make certain one thing did not draw too much attention, he went back to the middle of the room.

“Not sure what Gran has planned for dinner, but I know she wants to hold a little party with the three of us,” Neville said as he picked up the pile of clothes for a second time. “Hope you don’t mind if we play a board game or two, maybe some cards, and listen to the wireless for the night.”

“Actually, after Lord Pusztító and Professor Scamander, that sounds about the right speed,” Harry replied.

Neville smiled in relief. Then he pulled open the door to his room. He and Harry stepped into the hall wearing a new get-up they hoped concealed their actual physical state.

Mrs. Longbottom clearly thought farther ahead than either her grandson or their guest. They gathered at the dining to find she made sandwiches made of watercress and cucumbers with a tantalizing spriteberry compote spread over it. She also produced a bag of crisps for Neville and Harry, and the way Neville’s face lit up told him she provided a special treat. The woman also informed them they could sup on leftovers from their lunch if they got hungry later in the evening. Lastly, Neville’s grandmother brought out a black forest cake decorated with a white icing, patted over with chocolate bits, heaped with shaved chocolate on top, and gremlin cherries sat atop poofs of icing and made faces at them. Unlike Kellar’s Cellar, she did not use enchanted candles, but a muggle variety shaped in the number fifteen.

“Gran, this is perfect,” Neville said in a slightly hoarse voice.

“I’m not sure we can do justice to the birthday song as they did at Kellar’s, but I’m willing to give it a try if you want,” she told him.

“You’ve heard my singing voice, Mrs. Longbottom, but I’m game for it,” Harry added.

“Um, how about you just wish me a happy birthday and we’ll give the singing a miss?” Neville suggested.

Harry and Mrs. Longbottom cast a stoic glance at one another. She snapped her fingers, and the candles lit. They did as he requested, and simply wished Neville a very merry birthday. He blew out the candles with considerably less effort than it took the first time. The gremlin cherries made rude faces.

“I got the voiceless cherries this time. Not sure I can ever forget the first time we got the others,” the woman said as she started to cut the cake.

“It was awful, Harry. They’d scream every time you bit into one. Don’t know why anyone would use them for anything,” Neville told him and shuddered.

“Sounds like they’d be great fun for Halloween. Imagine handing out a screaming, bleeding tart!”

Neville chortled while his grandmother made a sour face. Harry kept his smirking to a minimum. A respectable piece of cake got delivered to each person. From the first bite Harry felt his body collapse into complete food lust. No muggle black forest cake could compare. The dense, moist cake got counter balanced with the light, almost frothy frosting. The bits of shave chocolate, dark chocolate at that, blended well with the strong rum-pickled cherries. His mouth could not decide which flavor it wanted most.

“This… is… awesome,” Harry moaned as he took another bite.

“My favorite,” Neville hummed as he shoveled another forkful into his maw.

“The Hübner Bakery and Sweet Shop outdid themselves this time,” Mrs. Longbottom said with obvious approval. “I told them it was for a special birthday for Neville.”

“This has been the best, Gran. Thank you… for all it,” her grandson told her with emotion coloring each word.

“You’re welcome, dear, and I do love you so, Neville,” she replied.

Harry felt a bit out of place. However, seeing them together painted a different picture than hearing Neville talk about a woman that terrified him. Real affection and love existed between the two. That she became Neville’s sole caretaker and did so with almost bruising intent spoke volumes about Augusta Longbottom. Harry felt himself become a little emotional as he thought of it.

“And you should also thank Harry. He’s added quite a bit of excitement to the day,” the older woman intoned.

“He’s been thanking me every chance he gets, Mrs. Longbottom,” Harry quietly said.

“Getting that signed copy of Professor Scamander’s book for him might be the high water mark.”

“No, Gran. Having both of you here to celebrate with me is the best part,” Neville spoke in a trembling voice. “You’re the two people I love most in the world.”

Harry felt water edge from his eyes. He reached over and caressed the back of Neville’s arm. His grandmother seized his left hand and squeezed it. They sat in quiet as the moment built and then slowly ebbed. Harry could not find any better sentiment or words than what his boyfriend said. That point in time etched itself onto Harry’s mind.

“And there’s still a gift or two to go yet,” Mrs. Longbottom said in a deeper tone.

“Oh, yeah! Excuse me for a moment,” Harry exclaimed and perked up.

He got up from the table and trotted back to Neville’s room. From the drawer he retrieved a wrapped package he kept hid since April. The paper looked a tad worn and wrinkled and the ribbon got flattened, but Harry did not care. Fred and George Weasley got it for him on one of their secret trips to Diagon Alley. He paid them a handsome fee for doing so. Excitement bubbled in Harry as he raced back to the table. He sat in his seat and held out the package.

“Happy birthday, Neville,” Harry said yet again, but this time with a palpable energy.

“Thanks, Harry,” Neville replied as he took the box, and then shook it a little next to his ear.

“Nah, nothing alive in there,” he told his boyfriend.

“I should hope not!” Mrs. Longbottom stated in a stern voice.

The glittery green paper evoked Yuletide, but the color played the important role. Neville tried to carefully remove the wrapping, but Harry used an abundance of a sticking charm. In the end, Neville needed to use force to remove it. A nondescript cardboard box tumbled out of the paper. Neville stared at it with curiosity. Not a single marking could be seen. Neville pried open one end. Harry fidgeted in his seat and grinned with anticipation.

An octagonal block of carefully carved hematite slid out and landed with a thump on the dining table. About ten centimeters long and five centimeters in diameter, the eight-sided block sported a hole drilled into the center that ran almost the length. It created a form of a barrel. Neville gazed at it for a moment before he stood up with a stunned expression on his face.

“No way?” He gasped. “You did not, Harry?”

“Like it?” Harry rhetorically asked.

“Exactly what is that?” Mrs. Longbottom inquired and narrowed her eyes.

“Gran, it’s a Wiz-Viz Tuner!” Her grandson.

“And what does that do?

“Show her, Neville,” Harry instructed his boyfriend.

Neville darted away from the table to his room.

“Am I going to regret this, Harry?” The older woman asked the young wizard.

“No, and you might want to get one for yourself. I got one too at the same time I got this for Neville,” he explained to her

Moments later Neville came thundering back into the dining room clutching his wand. He returned to his spot, and began to flip over the shiny gray block. When the side with writing on it appeared, Neville jammed his wand into the opening on the side. Seconds later an image appeared floating above the device.

“Volume up to three, and increase image by twenty percent,” Neville stated to the object.

The image grew in size and suddenly a voice could be heard. The tree-dimensional image of a middle-aged wizard dressed in plain but very finely cut robes spoke at an even pace and tone. Harry grinned as Neville and his grandmother leaned in closer to it.

“… current whereabouts are unknown, but citizens are warned to always travel with at least three other people and to avoid dimly lit areas. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Fucked routinely kidnapped lone individuals in the past,” the man said in a serious manner. “In weather news, crystal hail is falling in North…”

“Channel two,” Neville said.

The image changed and raucous music started to play. The image changed to a wizarding band playing as if being chased by a troll. Neville started to laugh.

“Brilliant, Harry. This is brilliant,” Harry’s boyfriend crowed, but then he cast an askance look at him. “This must’ve cost you a fortune!”

Harry held up a hand to ward off the seeming complaint and said: “They’re a lot cheaper now than they were last year. How do you think I could afford to get two?”

“You got one, too?” Neville burst. “Come on over here. Here!”

Neville withdrew his wand and flipped the device to a clean face. He inserted his wand again, but nothing happened. He looked expectantly at Harry.

“Where’s your wand?”

“In your room,” Harry said and snickered. “The shorts you lent me don’t have any pockets.”

“Don’t be a git and go get it!” Neville demanded.

“Neville Longbottom,” his grandmother called him up short. “You may be anxious to try this out, but that is no cause to be rude.”

“Sorry, Gran. Sorry, Harry,” Neville mumbled.

“That’s better. Now before Harry goes racing through the house to get his wand, I want a full explanation as to what this is,” Mrs. Longbottom requested in much the same way Neville asked Harry to get his wand.


	6. Chapter 6

Harry and Neville spent an hour explaining to Mrs. Longbottom the function of the device. Neville proved more adept than Harry. He concisely described it as a device to use the Wizarding Wireless Network to receive and send transmissions. Harry remained quiet as Neville demonstrated how each face of the device served a specific purpose. One face got dedicated to received teleprograms, and another for the equivalent of wizarding radio. The other six faces could be attuned to another person’s wand in order to conduct audio-visual conversations. At that point Harry disappeared and returned with his wand and his Wiz-Viz.

They showed the woman how Neville inserted his wand into the slot, and the device got attuned to only his wand the first time he used it. Harry then laid his wand along the blank upright face. Neville clearly spoke Harry’s full name. They repeated the process with Harry’s device, except the wands switched positions in Harry’s device. When completed, Harry trotted back to Neville’s room. Neville then made certain the side with Harry’s name that magically appeared on the surface faced upward. He inserted his wand in the slot, and then instructed the Wiz-Viz to contact Harry. Seconds later Harry’s image from the chest upward appeared. He waved. Mrs. Longbottom asked her grandson if Harry could hear them, and Harry answered the question. After the demonstration, she asked Harry to return to the dining room.

“Harry, this seems a bit… extravagant. Exactly how much did you spend on it?” Mrs. Longbottom asked.

“It’s a gift, so…” Harry tried to deflect.

“Harry, tell me or I won’t allow Neville to keep it.”

The faces of both Neville and Harry fell.

Harry sighed and said: “It was twenty-five galleons.”

“Mister Potter, that is far too much to spend on a simple birthday present!” The woman exclaimed.

“Mrs. Longbottom, my blood parents left me a lot of money at Gringott’s. I’m not allowed to touch it by myself ‘til I come of age, but I discussed what I wanted to do with Professor McGonagall and why, and she agreed. She helped me make the withdrawal from Gringott’s. Please don’t ask how I actually got them,” Harry said in somewhat defeated tone and a rush.

“Fred and George,” Neville correctly guessed, and Harry nodded his head.

“Harry, why…”

“Because if I could just see Neville… talk to him once a day, it wouldn’t feel like torture over at the Dursley’s,” he broke into her question and tried to second guess it. “I know it seems like a lot, but it was killing me being away from him all this time.”

“That I believe,” the older woman said in a low tone.

“Besides, if you got one you could talk to Neville whenever you wanted and not have to worry about letters and owls and all that.” Harry continued to his argument for allowing Neville to keep the device.

“I hadn’t quite thought of that,” Mrs. Longbottom said in a thoughtful manner. “But the expense, Harry. It’s too costly for someone your age.”

“It’s worth every sickle, Mrs. Longbottom. I would’ve paid twice that amount… maybe even three times as much. It’s gets rid of a couple real problems. Please! Please, let Neville keep it!”

Augusta Longbottom heard the entreaty in the voice of the teenager and understood what compelled it. The cost stunned her because no teenager should be allowed to spend that much on a gift for another teenager, she thought to herself, and she planned on a long talk with Minerva McGonagall. In a small way she felt a touch of envy because Harry knew what Neville would both like and want as a gift. It showed her grandson already began the transition to an independent person. Mrs. Longbottom internally debated the issue as two boys watched her with great intensity.

“On one condition. If you do not accept it or argue with me, then I will not allow it. Is this clearly understood?” She forced a promise without even stating the real condition.

“Yes, ma’am,” Harry meekly replied.

“I will pay for half of it, Harry, and the money will be returned to your vault,” Mrs. Longbottom said in a steel voice. She softened a bit. “It is lovely and thoughtful gift, Harry, and you’re reasons are fairly obvious. If in the future if you would like to make a similar purchase, please speak with me first and we can discuss it. Am I understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Harry answered and sounded relieved.

Harry honestly did not care about the money. He would be comfortable when he graduated from Snogwarts. He did not ask to dip into the funds very often so as not to give the Dursleys any ideas. It seemed reasonable to suspect they would drain his account if they knew how much awaited him, and then claim the right do so as both his guardians and the fact he lived with them. Thus, Harry seldom withdrew funds from his account. He only rarely bought any new clothing for fear of tipping off the Dursleys and left most of what he purchased stored in his school trunk, as Hagrid suggested on Harry’s first trip to Diagon Alley.

“Thanks, Gran,” Neville quietly said to her.

“Yes, and now there are a few other gifts for you, Neville. Perhaps not as extravagant, but just as well meaning,” his grandmother said.

Harry heard the subtle rebuke, but he accepted it without taking insult.

Neville then opened three packages, including one huge box. He got a new set of trainers with a silencing spell on the soles. The big box contained an assortment of new clothes. Harry often wondered why parents and guardians used birthdays and holidays to bestow clothing. It did not strike him as a genuine gift. Lastly Mrs. Longbottom gave him a set of specialized gardening tools. Made of strengthened pure silver and inlaid with runes of gold. Harry began to question the woman’s sense of what constituted not extravagant since the trowel, fork, and sheers would cost an outrageous amount. When Neville opened the packaged, he seemed more stunned than when he opened the Wiz-Viz Tuner.

“Gran!” He breathed out the word.

“You need these more than you’re willing to admit,” Mrs. Longbottom replied to her grandson. “I spend most of each year looking up the plants in your garden, and, quite frankly, I’m surprised you haven’t gotten yourself killed, Neville Erasmus Morgan Longbottom. Those vampyric gnome traps almost bit me last year.”

Neville said nothing, but turned a bright shade of red.

“I talked to Pomona before summer break started, and she wondered when she would hear from me about this issue,” his grandmother continued. “We spoke for a good long while, and she recommended this set to me.”

“Thanks, Gran,” Neville sheepishly muttered and mindlessly fingered the gardening tools.

“Now, do you know how much it surprised me when she said I should not curtail your gardening habits? Hmm?”

“A lot.”

“Precisely… but Madam Sprout made a convincing argument to let you continue, which is why I said nothing this year when you planted the festerwart. What on earth do you plan do with that?” She inquired and bridled a bit.

“Well, it’s sort of complicated, but I was thinking of cross-breeding it with the grabble vines and midgen so it could deliver vaccines to wild populations of animals suffering singe skin and other illnesses. When they run by the warts will rupture, send out tangling vines that’ll hold them for a minute, and then spray them with medicine,” Neville said and raised his head while he spoke. “Half those diseases are created by witches and wizards and they never think about what it does to other creatures. Someone’s got to look out for animals.”

Harry’s mouth fell open as he listened. He also saw the surprise on Mrs. Longbottom’s face. Neville told them exactly what he planned to do, and Harry did not doubt him one bit. His grandmother raised a hand and patted his face.

“You’re a good lad, Neville, but do be careful… and maybe put up some warning signs in the garden before one of us gets hurt,” she quietly said and exhorted him.

“Yes, Gran,” he answered with a smile and red face.

“And, Harry, I bet you thought gardening was harmless,” Mrs. Longbottom addressed him.

“No, ma’am. Madam Spout pretty much drove that notion out of our heads by the end of first year,” he told her. Then he looked to his boyfriend. “That’s a brilliant idea, Neville, about curing the animals.”

“It’s going to take me ages to get it right, but I think it should work,” the unassuming young man said with a shrug.

From there the three settled into a quiet evening of playing games at the table, fiddling with the Wiz-Viz Tuner, and talking about various topics. Mrs. Longbottom seemed especially interested in hearing about more of Harry’s exploits during the Bi-Wizard Tournament. He even went to lengths to include details he never told Neville, but the topic seemed inexhaustible. However, when it came to the events in the cemetery, Harry only presented the relevant facts without discussing particulars. Neither Mrs. Longbottom nor Neville pressed him for more information. Even after nearly three months, the memories of The Dork Lord’s return and Cedric’s death continued to trouble Harry.

“Someday you’re going to have to believe what happened to Ass Cleft wasn’t your fault, Harry,” Neville again tried to impress upon him.

“Did you hear what Lord Pusztító called it: the circumtantibus… the nightmare travel spell? Someone enchanted the trophy on purpose… and not just ‘cause Goo-eye said they did it as a joke,” Harry grumbled and did not directly respond to Neville’s statement.

“Probably Dumbledore, but I don’t think he thought you’d get that far. I’m pretty sure he believed the dragon or one of the other monsters would get you first,” his boyfriend strongly stated.

“The man has changed over the years,” Mrs. Longbottom said in a troubled tone. “He may need to be replaced if he’s gotten to the point where he’s openly trying to kill students. He was never fond of them, but this might be one step too far.”

“And it makes sense that spell would take you to Holdequart. I mean, can you think of a worse nightmare?” Neville added.

“No,” Harry admitted.

“Don’t dwell on it too much, Harry,” Mrs. Longbottom told him in a sympathetic fashion. “Remember that tomorrow we celebrate your birthday. Do try to come up with some ideas of what you would like to do or some place you might wish to visit.”

“All right,” he said, but his brain already threw up its arms in defeat.

“Well, it has been a long day and I am ready for a good night’s sleep,” the woman said and rose. She leaned over and kissed Neville on the cheek. “And happy birthday again, my darling boy.”

Neville threw his arms around his grandmother’s neck and squeezed. Mrs. Longbottom returned the gesture. They stood in silence for a few moments.

“I know I keep saying it, but you’re the best, Gran,” Neville told her in a thick voice.

“I love you, too,” she quietly said.

When he released him, the woman walked over to her grandson’s boyfriend. Mrs. Longbottom patted his cheek and smiled at him. The depth and warmth took Harry by surprise.

“I think I know why Neville said this was the best year he spent at Snogwarts, and I feel confident in saying you played a large role in that. Thank you, Harry,” she told him in a serious voice.

“You don’t need to thank me, Mrs. Longbottom. I get Neville out of the whole deal, so I’d say I’m coming out much further ahead,” Harry countered.

“You’re doing it again,” Neville mumbled.

“Right. Right. Thank you, Mrs. Longbottom, for all of this. I don’t remember when I last had a summer day as fun as this one,” he said, changing tack after the subtle reminder.

“Don’t stay up too late. It could be another busy day,” she said and began to smirk. “So, let’s see what tomorrow brings, but do try to involve one less dragon.”

“Yeah, all right,” Harry replied with a chuckle.

With that she left the two teenagers sitting at the dining table. The boys watched her depart. Neville seemed a bit emotional, and Harry could not blame him. His grandmother made an extraordinary effort to make the day special. Harry envied him a small amount.

“Come on, Harry. Give me a hand and we’ll get this sorted,” Neville asked as he stood and grabbed some of the mess remaining on the table.

Harry joined in. It did not take them long to clean the table, the dishes, and restore the dining area and kitchen to order. Neville started dousing lights with his wand as they wandered toward his room. Most of the evening the tight underpants managed to hide the worst his spontaneous erections, but strolling through the Longbottom house while holding Neville’s hand as they walked toward his bedroom completely aroused Harry. They glowed like noonday. Once in the room behind a locked door, it did not take long before both shed their clothing and found their way into a much anticipated embrace and so much more.

Neither gave any thought to the shine emanating from them. Neither did they notice when it got brighter. One person, however, did. Augusta Longbottom got up when she heard her grandson’s bedroom door close. She again sat in the formal parlor and stared at the yellow light shining in the short hall from under her grandson’s bedroom door. The woman knew what it meant. Augusta remember raising her own son with her now departed wife, Frank’s late blood father Morgan, and his husband. Once Frank grew, married, moved out, and decided to raise a family, Augusta and Dimodia lived a quiet life when Morgan and his husband, seeing the family job finished, left as well although they stayed in constant touch until both got murdered by Holdequart’s forces. Neville did not remember he witnessed the event. She stared at the door because it seemed Neville found someone to love who loved him in return.

Following the interesting day, Harry Potter caused her great concern. She did not fear he would leave her grandson. More to the point, she feared he would not. Long before his birth, Augusta knew Harry’s blood parents because both Frank and Alice, and their spouses, knew the Potters and their spouses. All got involved in fighting Lord Holdequart at the behest of Albus Dumbledore. The famed Order of the Peacock proved an effective force, a small company of fighters compared to Holdequart’s followers, and it cost many their lives. Almost half the Order got killed, and another quarter got so severely injured it forced them into a form of early retirement. They never succeeded in their objective, and only the baby Harry Potter managed to hand Holdequart any form of defeat at the expense of his parents’ lives, their spouses’ lives, Black’s imprisonment, and the sanity of Frank and Alice. Thus, Augusta found Neville’s association with Harry very disturbing the more she thought about it.

Yet she liked the boy. His somewhat cavalier attitude, innate fearlessness, penchant for honesty, and general politeness created an irresistible combination. He oozed a simple charm that both baffled and captivated the woman, and she finally saw firsthand how her grandson fell under its spell. Moreover, Harry treated Neville like no other person their age. Augusta witnessed how Harry cared not one iota about her grandson’s peculiarities and, in fact, seemed to celebrate them. The Potter boy managed to break through Neville’s reserve and invite him into the larger world. It thrilled Augusta someone finally found the secret to her grandson, and also laid to rest any worries about his possibly being a breeder, yet she very privately wished it to be someone other than Harry Potter.

“He’s going to get him killed,” the older woman whispered in a trembling voice as she recalled Neville's telling when the dragon spotted them. “No amount of love can protect Neville from The Dork Lord, and he doesn’t realize it.”

Unlike most people Augusta Longbottom never believed Lord Holdequart died as a result of his interaction with Harry as a baby. She never held that such a reaction to a vile act, although aided by strong forms of magic, could completely eliminate a being as powerful as Lord Holdequart. When she heard of his return and the method he used, as reported by Harry and two other students, it stunned but did not surprise her. Augusta also realized it meant one thing: Harry Potter now became the focus of The Dork Lord’s interest and ire. It meant anyone associated with him would find themselves in serious danger. It also meant her grandson inadvertently found himself in the eye of the storm. Augusta Longbottom knew that if anything happened to Neville, it would kill her. She so desperately wished Harry to be a different person.

“And you two really are in love with one another,” she said to the golden light that blazed on the other side of her grandson’s door. “And it can’t keep either one of you safe.”

Augusta sighed and stood. She credited herself for the foresight of laying a sound damping spell on the room a decade before Neville's birth. Too often she and Dimodia suffered through the sound of her son’s rambunctious sexual encounters. Thus, when Neville did not show the same proclivities as his father, it began to worry Augusta. She thought him a late bloomer, and Neville did look the role even into late childhood. However, when he clearly entered puberty and still showed no apparent signs of interest in other boys, she started to suspect her grandson could be a breeder. The idea chilled her worse than when she discovered Neville’s association with Harry Potter. She knew something began to develop between the two when Neville stopped gushing about Harry’s exploits in letters and only referred to him in passing. However, the short mentions belied Neville’s real emotional state.

“Gran, honestly, it just happened,” Neville told her at the beginning of the summer break when he returned home in a sullen state. “He just started being nice to me. I don’t know why. It’s just him.”

“Why would the second or third most famous wizard at the school suddenly take an interest in you, Neville? It doesn’t just happen. What did you do? What did he do? Did someone set him to do this? Is it prank?”

“This no prank, Gran, or a set-up. It sort of went back to when we all first got to Snogwarts. Harry always tried to get me involved that year, but… well, you know what I was like. I didn’t know how to handle it. He stopped after that, but Harry says he started again this year ‘cause he didn’t think it was fair or right how the other students treated me… even our roommates!”

Augusta Longbottom eyed her grandson.

“See, right before the first challenge of the tournament, Harry came to me for some advice. I don’t think he meant to, but I was sort of convenient and he was scared shi… to death about facing the dragon,” Neville started in a firm tone. “I didn’t do much of anything except remind him he could read about dragons in the library and maybe he should go do that before the first challenge started. He’s the one who kept saying I gave him the best advice and helped him with the challenge… even more than Hermione.”

“So he developed feelings for you out of gratitude?”

Neville sat at the dining table and sighed. He looked flustered to his grandmother, as though he truly could not explain how the relationship evolved. Augusta, however, started to piece it together, yet she wanted more information.

“Neville?” She prodded him.

“We just sort of started talking a lot more, and… some other stuff,” he replied while his face turned red.

She bore down on him with her gaze.

“And… see, never touched each other, but just sort of… ah, watched each other.”

“Watched each other what?” Augusta pressed her grandson.

“Come on, Gran. Please, don’t make me say it!” Neville begged.

Silence held the moment.

“We’d watch each other play with ourselves,” he finally said in very small voice and shoved the remains of his sandwich around on his plate in an effort to avoid her gaze.

“It became sexual?” His grandmother summarized.

“Not really. We didn’t do anything except look at each other. I mean, if you wanted to see sexual, you need to see Ron or Dean… even Séamus go at it…”

“I, ah, am not interested in their exploits.”

Neville finally looked up at her and saw the puzzled expression on her face.

“That’s honestly how it got started?” She asked him after a few moments.

“Well, after the Halloween Mixer, all the other guys started avoiding Harry… I mean for… private stuff,” he mumbled.

“Sex. If you mean sex, Neville, say sex. Do you think I don’t know what goes on in school or how most of you would like to spend all your time?”

Neville turned a brilliant shade of scarlet. He never once thought he would engage in such a conversation in all his life. He wished she would just accept that he and Harry fell in love over an extended period of time.

“So Harry came to you because… he was desperate?” Augusta inquired of the teenager.

“Me? No. That was with Dennis, but only once,” Neville said and seemed indignant about the notion. “After Halloween we talked more and just spent more time together, and sometimes we’d… watch each other, but it didn’t go any further than that.”

His grandmother raised a single eyebrow and in effect told him she thought he withheld part of the story.

“Did you forget I asked him to the Yuletide Ball and he said yes?”

“No, but you never mentioned it again… even in your letter telling me how Yule morning went,” she responded.

“Harry sort of slept on my bed next to me after I fell asleep when we got back from the dance. That… Gran, that was one of the best things I got that morning. Yule morning, and Harry was right next me… holding me.”

Augusta saw the influential role that night played in her grandson’s developing love life.

“Then after that I could sort of see he kind of felt something for me, and me… Gran, I fell for him so hard after that,” Neville heaved out the words. “He spent time with me. Came down to the greenhouses to see me. Me, Gran! Neville Longbottom. Harry Potter wanted to see me. And then he told me all about what he was planning for the second challenge, and he didn’t even tell Ron or Hermione. Every time I saw him I just wanted to hold him, kiss him… sometimes it hurt, you know?”

“You were in love. I was young once, too, Neville, despite what you think,” he said to him.

“Yes, I guess.”

She pursed her lips and frowned at his response.

“He got so nervous that morning getting ready for the next challenge. I slipped him some of the fishface lace ‘cause I knew he didn’t figure out how he was going to breath under the water,” Neville. “He came up with that really great plan to get around the Merscots, but some of the other details he sort of forgot about, so I helped him.”

“More than anything, Neville, you are good friend to him,” she told him and patted his arm.

Neville tilted his head to the side and grinned.

“What is that look all about about?”

“Just something Harry said, insisted on really. He said we needed to always work on being friends first before anything else. He’s right,” he quietly intoned as he thought back to the conversation that helped define at least half their relationship.

“That’s pretty astute,” Augusta said.

Her grandson looked at her and said: “Gran, I can’t really explain what it felt like when they came and got me and said I was Harry’s heart’s desire. That he had to find and rescue me. That was one of the best moments in my life. I was the only one smiling when they put us on those boxes and sank us down into the loch.”

“Do you understand what would’ve happened if Harry failed?”

“Yes, but at least I finally knew he loves me!”

In that one statement in which Neville indirectly acknowledged the threat to his life but got overshadowed by Harry’s emotions, Augusta realized her grandson wholly loved the boy. She recalled in her youth when Armondo Dipshit, then head of Snogwarts, would gather everyone at the banks to play and sing the hideous song the man claimed kept the Merscots at peace with the wizards. To learn Albus Dumbledore halted the practice always disturbed her when her son, Frank, told her they never gathered at the water’s edge. It seemed, based on her grandson’s reaction, he also understood the danger posed to him.

“But he didn’t, Gran,” Neville said, and his face broke into a wide smile. “He saved all of us in those boxes. It meant he came in last place, but he couldn’t leave the others down there. And then on the dock after he got out of the water and I asked him if I was really his heart’s desire and he said he finally realized it… and we had a kiss, and it was… grand.”

Augusta sat back in her chair and observed her grandson. She could see he became besotted with Harry, but many questions lingered in her mind. She did not know Harry and only ever saw him at a distance. Given both the fame and infamy that surrounded him, grown even greater by the events of the tournament and the death of the Diggory boy, she feared Neville did not truly appreciate the world into which he entered. Memories of her son and Neville’s blood-mother never strayed very far from her conscious mind. She brought her grandson to see his blood parents so he would see firsthand what could befall a person. Instead of avoiding everything to do with Lord Holdequart, her grandson placed himself right the middle by falling in love with one of the central characters. Worries assailed her at a rapid pace.

“I know what you’re thinking, Gran, and he loves me. You may not believe it, but he does,” Neville said with such certainty it made his grandmother pause.

“How?” She asked after a few moments.

“When we touch… when we’re together, there’s this light that starts to glow,” her grandson said in a slow and somewhat thoughtful manner. “Professor Snape called it illumitus amorem: love lights.”

“Neville, this no time to be funny,” she said and used her expression to flat out reject his assertion.

He looked indignant and replied: “I’m serious, Gran. When Harry and I touch, this… gold, yellow light starts to shine around us. Then these little balls of it start floating around us. Don’t forget that used to happen Grandpa Morgan and Papa Claude.”

“Yes, and they were together over forty…” and Augusta paused because memories of Morgan Longbottom, a man she came to adore and care about, did not deserve the fate that awaited him. “He and Claude were devoted to each other.”

“I’m devoted to Harry,” Neville said in a quiet tone. “I pretty sure he feels the same way toward me.”

The older woman huffed and said: “Neville, you will be fifteen in six weeks, how can you possibly devote yourself to a boy at your age? How can you possibly understand the ramifications of that?”

The teenager slowly got to his feet. He set the napkin from his lap onto the table. While standing, he held his grandmother’s eyes. Her reaction took him by surprise.

“Why doesn’t anybody believe us?” He said in a dejected voice and started to walked around the table.

“Neville, come back here and finish this talk,” Augusta ordered him.

The boy flinched, but he kept walking toward his room.

“Neville? Neville? Did you hear what I said?”

“I heard everything, Gran, and I don’t want to hear any more,” he replied and did not turn around.

“This simply will not do! Neville! Return to the table this instant!” The woman demanded.

For the first time in his life Neville did not care if he incurred his grandmother’s wrath. She hurt him in a way he never expected. It did not help that it came on the heels of being separated from Harry. He made it to his room and closed the door. He also locked it. Then he jammed the single sickle in his pocket between the door and the doorjamb. His grandmother might be able to magic open the lock, but the door would wedge against the sickle if she pushed on it. He went and laid on his bed. Tears edged out of his eyes no matter how hard he tried to keep them at bay.

Augusta sat at the table completely astounded that Neville refused her command. It gave her serious pause. She worked all his life to make certain he would listen to her because she wanted to protect his life, and the woman repeatedly told him as much. Augusta began to doubt if she took the right approach with her grandson. She waited at the table to see if he would return. An hour later she took his plate to the kitchen, disposed of the uneaten portions of his lunch, cleaned the dish, and then went and stood by door. She simply listened. Augusta heard nothing. Normally she could tell when Neville read, painted, or worked on some private project. Silence dominated. She decided to give him space and time to come to his senses regarding Harry Potter.

On the morning of the second day when Neville did not emerge from his room, Augusta returned to it. She rapped lightly in the sturdy wood and waited. Thirty seconds later she knocked again. Once more she did not receive an answer. Instead of panicking, she fell back on her experience raising a boy over thirty years before. She cleared her throat.

“Neville, it is simply unacceptable for you to just lie in your room moping,” Augusta told her grandson.

She got no reply.

“What about the garden? Your olive trees?”

Still silence greeted her.

Augusta removed her wand from a pocket in her skirt. She held it against the lock and whispered the magic word. After slowly turning the knob, she pushed. The door moved forward a few millimeters and stopped. She pushed harder, and it remained firmly in place. The woman wondered what spell her grandson placed on the door, and it seemed rather good to keep her from opening it. She stood back and pointed her wand at it.

“Ostimmeo,” she said clearly as she concentrated.

The door groaned but did not open.

“Ostimmeo!” She repeated.

Again the door groaned, the wood bent, she hear a minor cracking sound, but still the door did not swing open. Augusta stared at it impressed with whatever spell her grandson used to keep the door shut. However, it also irritated her because she grew excessively weary of the mood that overcame him. She approached the door again.

“Neville!” She said while knocking rapidly on the door. “Open this door or I will use a spell to knock it open and then you will have to live without door on your room!”

She heard him mumble, then a small metallic sound, and the door slowly swung open. When it opened all the way, Augusta saw her grandson lying in bed, arms wrapped about him, and wand in one hand. He faced toward the wall. The woman walked into the room until she reached the end of the bed.

“Neville, you’ve never acted like this before. What is the matter?” She asked and tried to sound calm.

“You don’t care what I think, so why bother asking? Just tell me what you want me to do,” he morosely answered.

“You know I care, but I don’t care for this sudden moodiness. Why are you acting this way?”

“I already told you, and you told me it’s impossible for someone my age. Just leave me alone.”

Augusta became cross and said: “You honestly don’t expect me to believe that you and Harry are so emotionally bonded that you create love lights. It’s preposterous for boys your age! For anyone your age.”

“Yeah, fine. Call me a liar. I don’t care. Just please go away,” Neville numbly muttered.

“Neville Erasmus Morgan Longbottom! I will not tolerate this!” She yelled at him when his response and tone thoroughly vexed her.

Neville simply shrugged and did not move.

“Fine! Stay in here and mope for as long as you want. It is not an answer to anything!” The woman declared, whirled around, and walked out.

Three days later in a state of panic Augusta summoned the family healer. Neville neither ate nor drank for the duration, and now he lay on his bed in a semi-comatose state. By her estimation, the boy went for five days without liquid or sustenance. When Neville’s lifelong doctor arrived, she took him immediately to the teenager. The elderly wizard dressed in a neat dark suit draped with a blue and white stole waved his wand over the inert form several times.

“First and foremost he needs water,” Doctor Hildago said in a serious voice. “Second… there is something strange here. Something is sapping his energies. I can’t quite place it.”

“Well, he hasn’t seen his boyfriend in the weeks since they left school, and I know he’s upset about that,” Augusta supplied what she thought a trivial piece of information to help lighten the situation.

“Neville’s first?”

She nodded.

“How long have they been dating?” The doctor inquired.

“Well, at least since February at the end of the second challenge,” Augusta offhandedly stated. “Perhaps it began sometime in December, but Neville got involved in that silly contest because of Harry.”

“Harry Potter? I followed that tournament in the paper. Rita Skeeter made a big deal out of Potter finding his – what did they call it? – special heart or special desire. Something like that,” the man said as obviously racked his brain. “Are you saying Neville and Potter are an… item?”

“It seems so. Neville is very taken with him, as you can expect, what with this being his first teenage romance. It’s all very important to him. He went so far as to say he and Harry can produce love lights,” Augusta said through a disbelieving chuckle.

The doctor, however, did not appear amused. He turned and waved his wand over Neville for a second time while mumbling a series of complex incantations. When he faced the woman again, he looked shocked.

“Augusta, I know you’ve looked after Neville very carefully since, well, since what happened to Morgan and Frank and after Dimodia passed, so I’m not surprised you didn’t see the signs,” the man said in a grave tone. “My reading shows Neville is diminishing. Did he argue about wanting to see Harry or…”

“No. not at all. Neville explained to me how he and Harry started dating, and then he said they made love lights. I said that was ridiculous, and Neville started moping and came here into his room. He hasn’t left since.”

The doctor pinched the bridge of his nose and winced. It looked as though he developed a serious headache. It made Augusta feel nervous.

“Augusta, you are the one person Neville looks to for validation,” the man said in a quiet voice. “What you said to him, you’re rejection of his claim, combined in a deleterious manner with his already… I supposed you could say languishing heart. Some first romances can be extremely potent, as you probably remember. For Neville, a boy who we both thought might be heterosexual, this affair he has with Potter would produce a condition almost identical to illumutus amorem with the exception it can naturally fade over time without undue damage to either boy.”

“Just one moment, Doctor Hildago, are you saying he and Potter can actually produce love lights?” She inquired in a shocked fashion.

“In essence, yes. Neville is letting himself waste away because he is cut off from that extraordinary source of interpersonal magic tied to his emotions and because you mocked him about it.”

“It wouldn’t say I mocked him,” Augusta defensively rounded on the man.

“Well, didn’t believe him or said it’s impossible or… regardless of how you put it, Neville likely took it as a rejection of both him and his new relationship. He’s basically given up hope. He doesn’t see any reason to continue,” Doctor Hildago asserted.

“You’re saying I’m responsible for this?”

“Not entirely, but in large part you are,” the man replied without hesitation. “Neville came home already in a precarious state by being separated from Harry. He probably could have made it through the summer with only moderate effects until they could reunite, but your refusal to believe him accelerated the separation impact. Neville needed you to trust he told you the truth.”

Augusta’s mouth fell open as she listened. She looked down at the motionless form of her teenage grandson. The differences between him and his blood father, her son, became pronounced. She realized she needed to treat Neville much differently than she would Frank. For what felt like first time since her son got tortured into insanity, she looked at Neville as a completely distinct. Augusta Longbottom made up her mind.

Her resolve carried through to the present.


	7. Chapter 7

The morning arrived like the greatest gift imaginable when Harry awoke to feel Neville wrapped around him. It surprised him how energetic he felt given how energetically the two of them expressed their love to one another through a long stretch of the night. Harry tried to calculate the time, but lacked his normal references. He lay in the warmth of his boyfriend’s embrace. Unfortunately, nature woke him, and he needed to urinate like a racehorse after a derby.

“Roll over, Neville,” he said in gentle voice.

Neville loosed his arms and rolled over. Harry learned from the months of sleeping together that Neville would respond to some commands in his sleep. It did not take long to train him to roll over when he started to hog the bed. Thus freed, Harry carefully slipped out of the bed and first found his glasses. He searched out the shorts he wore the night before and the tee-shirt, found them, and slipped them on. Harry gingerly left the room and made it to the bathroom without anyone the wiser. Relief soon came to him.

“Harry?” A voice said to him as he attempted to return to Neville’s room.

He squinted and peered down the hall. In the formal parlor he saw Mrs. Longbottom sitting in a chair and dressed for the day. She beckoned him with a finger. Although he felt rather strange talking to her without wearing any underwear, Harry walked into the sitting room.

“Happy fifteenth birthday, Harry,” she said in a pleasant manner. “Please, sit.”

“Thanks,” he rejoined and smiled while he sat. He glanced at her.

“Neville likes to sleep in after a long day.”

“Yeah, he does the same at school.”

They stared at one another as though they verged on having a discussion neither wanted to start.

“Harry, there’s… something I wish to talk to you about. I know it’s your birthday and perhaps not a time for weighty subjects, but seeing as you rose before Neville,” Mrs. Longbottom began.

“What are you worried about?” Harry asked.

“Direct, good,” the woman said with a node of her hear. “And I shall be as equally direct.”

Harry nodded. She turned in her seat a little to better face him. The expression on her face did not foretell a lighthearted discussion.

“I’m worried that Neville’s association with you endangers his life. You have formidable enemies, Harry, very formidable enemies. Once they realize Neville’s importance to you, he could well become a target,” Mrs. Longbottom said to him and lived up to the promise of being direct.

“I’ve thought about that, and I warned him. I told him to warn you as well,” he replied.

“You do realize I didn’t learn about your relationship until shortly before the end of the school year, and what I gleaned out The Daily Profit. Neville kept it from me. It lead to some rather intense talks after he returned home.”

“Yeah, I bet. At least you were interested. The Dursleys didn’t want to hear about it from me,” Harry rejoined. “So, what are you asking me to do? Do you want me to break up with Neville ‘cause I’m sure that’s not actually an option at this point?”

Mrs. Longbottom blinked at him. It astonished her he made such a large, intuitive leap. While she never considered the prospect after she learned the scope of their relationship and seeing the proof of it the evening before, it did not seem like a feasible alternative.

“No, I couldn’t ask you to do that to him… or to yourself. He truly is taken with you, and you appear equally as smitten,” she said in a less than enthusiastic fashion.

“You don’t approve of us being together?” He shot back when he heard the tone.

“I’ve wanted nothing more than Neville’s happiness since the day he was born, Harry, and never forget that,” Mrs. Longbottom all but upbraided him. “I am asking you to consider his welfare in this endeavor. You’ve suffered losses, so I think you’ll understand this: Neville is all I have left in this world. I don’t want to lose him, and especially to those who would do you harm.”

Harry heard a multitude of emotions in the woman, but he mostly heard anger and pain. Low sunlight streamed in through the windows and painted everything in a soft glow. Harry’s eyes shifted around to take in details as he considered what he should say. The décor appeared exactly as he would expect for an older woman with better taste than his aunt and uncle. The distraction helped him clear his mind.

“Mrs. Longbottom, right around three months ago I got to watch a friend of mine get killed by Holdequart, and minutes before that I watched him kill an innocent woman,” Harry said even though he knew Pottybrew killed Diggory. “I got to carry my friend’s body back to his family and friends. I got to look into his dead face. I will never be able to forget that. Have you ever seen someone murdered right in front of you?”

“No,” she quickly stated.

“Good, and I hope you never do. Now ask yourself this: do you really think I would put Neville into any sort of danger? Huh?”

Mrs. Longbottom blinked at him.

“You don’t think much of me, do you?” He grumbled at her.

“Quite to the contrary, Harry,” she countered. “I am amazed you are as kind and considerate as you are given everything you’ve endured. Most people would be wretched and bitter after living the life you’ve been forced to live. I actually admire you if you want to know the truth.”

Harry huffed a little, readjusted his sitting position, and said: “Then you should know I would do anything to keep Neville from getting hurt. I’d give my life for him…”

“And no fifteen-year old should ever be put into that position, and yet it could happen with you. Most people will never face that option, but, Harry, think about what you’re facing now that The Dork Lord is back. Can you ever be truly safe?”

“You don’t get it, do you?” He replied and a grim smile played along his mouth. “No one is safe, Mrs. Longbottom, now that Holdequart is back. How many hundreds of witches and wizards did he kill the first time? How many thousands of muggles died because of him? How safe were they? And I didn’t know any of those people.”

Augusta Longbottom stared at the boy. She did not expect such a cogent answer, and it scared her more than if he rattled off nonsense. The woman lived through the last wizarding war. People she cared about died or got permanently maimed by Lord Holdequart and his forces, and Harry only indirectly interacted with any of them. Yet she could not dismiss Harry Potter now lived as a marked person. Holdequart did not care about individual lives, and the she-man would use anyone to achieve his ends. Too many stories from the past lived her memories.

“What you say is true, Harry. I can’t deny that, but you are forgetting one very important factor,” she said and held his eye for a moment. “He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Fucked knows you mean to oppose him, and you do, correct?”

Harry nodded.

“Then that means everyone around you, anyone you know is in danger. Will The Dork Lord stop to and consider whether people associated with you are neutral toward him, or will he simply eliminate them to get to you?”

“Before I answer that I have a question for you.”

She frowned but said: “All right.”

“Does what you’re saying mean you won’t oppose Holdequart?” Harry flatly asked.

“What? I don’t understand your question,” Mrs. Longbottom burbled in confusion.

“Do you plan to oppose Lord Holdequart when he restarts his war against wizarding kind or are you just going to sit back and let others do the fighting and hope they beat him?”

The woman sat up and glared at the teenage boy. Harry did not react. He sat perfectly still and held her with his eyes.

“You ask an unfair question!” She snorted at him after several long moments.

“How is it unfair? Either you’re going to stand against him or you’re not. If you’re not, then you’re either going try and get out of the way or you’re going to help Holdequart. So which is it?” Harry asked and did not relent. The image of Ass Cleft filled his head.

“That is quite enough, young man!” Mrs. Longbottom half-shouted and rose from her chair. “I’ll have you know my son and Neville’s blood mother are in a hospital…”

“Because they got tortured by Holdequart’s followers until they went mad,” Harry interjected and finished for her. “That happened after he put my parents into their graves. After he killed my mom’s wife, and framed my father’s husband for murders he didn’t commit. After he tried to rape me as a baby. And you still haven’t answered my question.”

She gazed at Harry half in fury and half in horror. The woman knew all the facts, but to hear them laid out end to end by the person who became the ultimate victim of the attacks stopped her cold. She heard Harry could be brazen and brutally honest, yet it became an altogether different matter when facing it. He used the truth of his life like a battering ram.

“Gran, answer him,” Neville’s voice coldly slipped through the room. “Because I plan on fighting Lord Holdequart every chance I get whether Harry wants me to or not. If Holdequart is going to kill me, it’ll be for that reason and not because I’m in love with Harry.”

“Neville, you misunderstand…”

“No, he doesn’t, Mrs. Longbottom. Stop treating him like a child and something you can protect, because you can’t,” Harry all but growled.

Neville walked into the room. Harry glanced at him, and he saw a type of anger on his boyfriend’s face he never saw in the past. It made him pause for a moment. Also dressed in the shorts and shirt he wore the evening before, it almost made the lanky teenager appear disarming save for his expression.

“Is that why you wanted Harry to come here for these two days so you could try to scare him away from me?” Neville inquired in a cold voice.

“Neville, no, that was never my intention,” Mrs. Longbottom said, and her hard exterior seemed to crack a bit. “I simply wanted him to think about what this relationship could do to you.”

“And don’t you think I haven’t thought about that every single day? That we haven’t talked about it over and over?” Harry asked full of incredulity.

The woman gazed at the two young men, boys in her mind, as they bore down on her. She expected Harry would meet her confrontation head on, but she thought she settled the matter weeks before with Neville once he recovered from his near lethal lethargy. The hard light she saw in his eyes reminded her too much of her son when Frank said he would not abandon his friends or the fight against Lord Holdequart. That, more than anything, scared Augusta through and through.

“Gran, even if you locked me in this house, do you really think I’d be safe? Holdequart got into Snogwarts through a professor. If that place isn’t safe, then no place is safe. Don’t you realize that?” Her grandson continued to hound her with questions.

“And did both of you forget I lived through the first war with The Dork Lord?” She fired back without checking her anger. “I lost my son, Neville’s paternal grandfather, his grandfather’s husband, Neville’s mother… a score of people I knew my entire life to that insane dark wizard. Has it ever entered into either of your thinking I might be just as tired of having the people I love die at that hands of Hol… him and his followers? Do you fault me for wanting to keep one precious piece of my life safe and intact?”

Silence tensely reigned over the trio for almost a minute as they shifted their gaze from one to another. Harry understood everything the woman said, except he also heard part of the driving force behind it. Since he first got told what actually happened to him as a baby, the truth about his blood parents' death, and the terror in which the wizarding world lived, the young scarred wizard innately realized life came down to a serious of choices. It bothered him that the Sorting Bonnet considered putting him in Slytherin House. It bothered him when he learned he could speak parsel tongue. It bothered him when he discovered his father’s husband, his godfather, got wrongly sent to prison and lived as a fugitive. It bothered him that Peter Pottybrew carried out the evil ritual to restore Holdequart’s body even after Harry showed the man mercy. It framed his response.

“Mrs. Longbottom, each of us has to make choices. Every day we need to choose how we’re going to live,” Harry said with deliberate slowness. “A lot of things that happened to me I didn’t get to choose, but I’m not going to let them force me into making wrong choices for myself. Part of me chose to fall in love with Neville because I recognized his… basic goodness and decency. I chose to stand against Holdequart because I know if I don’t it guarantees I will lose everything I love. So, what do you choose, Mrs. Longbottom? Do you choose fear, or do you choose to stand up to it?”

“Harry…” Augusta Longbottom started and halted.

“Right now this isn’t about me. It’s not about Neville. It’s about who you are. It’s about who you want to be. That’s something that never changes no matter how old we get,” Harry said and felt the words of Sirius Black slipping out of his mouth. He finally understood what his godfather meant when he explained how he survived in Bangabang Prison.

“You can’t possibly understand what you’re asking me,” she snapped at him.

“Why? Because I’m only fifteen?”

Augusta tried to fix him with a stern gaze, but Harry ignored it. He faced an enraged Lord Holdequart several times in his life, and the woman’s obdurateness did not make an impact on him.

“I was eleven when Lord Holdequart gave me a choice. He asked me to join his side. He said if I helped him get a new body he would help bring my dead parents back. Holdequart knew what he did to me, what I wanted most, and he tried to use it against me. He forced me to decide between… two different wants. I was eleven and had to decide who I wanted to be as a person, so don’t tell me I don’t understand what I’m asking you,” he said with growing ire.

His words compelled Augusta Longbottom to finally and truly believe something about Harry Potter she never completely believed: the child did, indeed, face The Dork Lord. She who lived sixty years never actually confronted Lord Holdequart even though her life got shaped in many ways by the dark wizard. There she sat and argued with what seemed to be a mere child who just a few short months before physically confronted Lord Holdequart, watched the dark one kill two people, managed to survive, and continued to find the internal will to fight the twisted being. She looked at her grandson, and the veil fell away from her eyes. Tears sprang from her eyes as the enormity of what she faced in the boys stood up to her.

“Why aren’t you a-afraid?” She begged the question.

“I am afraid,” Harry grunted in surprise. “It scares me limp, but I’m sick of being afraid. I don’t want to live my life scared every single moment of every single day. That’s not living. That’s worse than the life of an animal. If I let it happen to me, then Holdequart wins without even having to lift a finger.”

“Gran,” Neville said in a much gentler voice. “I’m tired of being afraid, too. Sometimes I think that’s all you tried to teach me. I know you wanted me to be strong, but… you made me afraid to stand up for myself. Harry said one thing to me you never did.”

Augusta looked up at her grandson and silently pleaded with her watery eyes for him to withhold what he would say.

“He said he liked my weirdness. He told me it was one of my strengths and I should be proud of it… use it,” the young man said to his grandmother.

“Neville, I never meant to make you feel…”

“Sit up straight. Don’t do that. Don’t act like that. Is that what your father and mother would expect from you? Is that how you want people think of you? View you? Do you want to be one of those kind of people?” Neville rejoined in a perfect imitation of the woman.

Harry stood up and faced Neville. He smiled at the young man he loved. It took a few moments, but Neville returned the smile.

“I got to go get changed and get my stuff,” Harry told.

“Harry?” Neville questioned because he understood what Harry meant.

“I can’t stay here. At least the Dursleys are honest about disliking me and don’t try to hide it,” he calmly said. “And your grandmother did give me one night with you and reminded me why I’ve got to keep fighting. That’ll be enough ‘til we get back to Snogwarts.”

“Harry, no,” his boyfriend begged.

The unintentionally famous young wizard slipped his arms around his boyfriend’s chest and squeezed. Within a second a golden light began to shine. Neville wrapped Harry in a hug. Harry felt the air rush out of his lungs from the strength the embrace, and he loved it. However, he forced him to disengaged and wiggle out of Neville’s arms. He smiled again.

“Yeah, go get ready. I’ll be there in a minute,” Neville told him.

Harry walked around his boyfriend without turning around. He at last understood why he felt odd from the moment Augusta Longbottom arrived at the door at Little Whinging. Out of probably the deepest love Harry could imagine, she worked to barricade her grandson from the world. She wanted to insulate him from all danger. In doing so, he thought, she made him completely vulnerable. It angered him, but he saw Neville hid within himself a mettle that got tempered over time and gave him a strength waiting for any reason to surge to the surface. Augusta Longbottom misjudged her grandson, and it might prove a fatal blow to their relationship.

By the time Harry reached Neville’s bedroom, he could hear the two engaged in a low volume but heated exchange of words. In some ways Harry compared the woman to Lord Holdequart. In trying to manipulate one person and the surrounding conditions, each created a bane. The two worked from diametrically opposed reasons, but they met somewhere in the middle. Love and hate tended to mirror one another. Harry somehow managed to face his intense love for Neville and decide to offer his boyfriend freedom through it. He did not want to get manipulated by or through his love, and thus could not do the same to another.

“Crap, she has my clothes,” Harry said as he looked around the room.

He turned around and headed back to the parlor. Neville and his grandmother faced one another, standing, and Harry saw how much Neville resembled the woman. The old adage of the unstoppable force meeting the immovable object came to mind.

“Sorry to break this up, but I need my clothes,” Harry bluntly intruded.

Augusta looked at him with a confusing mix of emotions on her face.

“Don’t blame me,” Harry said to her without any apology. “You’re the one who tried to engineer this. What’s that old line about unintended consequences?”

“I am trying to protect my grandson!” She all but yelled at him.

“And that was your first mistake. You can’t. The more you try, the more you’ll fail,” he replied without yelling, although Harry really felt the need to do so. “It’s funny, but I was just thinking how Holdequart made me into his worst enemy. Is that what you intended to do with Neville?”

Her mouth fell open.

“So, um, where’s my clothes?” Harry asked again.

“Come on. Follow me,” Neville said in a stiff manner.

“Neville Eras…”

“For Merlin’s sake just stop it, Gran!” Neville shouted and wheeled around. “That is never going to work again. I’m not afraid of you anymore. I’m done with that. Harry’s right and you may not want to admit it, but you created the situation you are most afraid of: you’re gonna lose me… and not because one of the Dungeaters killed me.”

Harry felt a surge of pride for Neville. Without waiting for his grandmother to respond, Neville turned and started leading Harry again. They traveled through formal sitting room to the dining area, and then into the kitchen. They went to a door standing next to the cold locker. When Neville opened it, Harry saw the bizarre magical clothes cleaning device. It washed and dried clothes like a muggle system, but it also sorted, pressed, and folded garments. Harry saw his clothes sitting in a neat pile. Harry grabbed his while Neville took the ones belonging to him. Then they reversed their course.

Mrs. Longbottom stood next to the dining table when they exited the kitchen. In Harry’s eyes she no longer looked imposing. The woman seemed old and scared. He felt sorry for her.

“You need to let me say one thing before you decide to leave,” Augusta Longbottom told him in an amazingly controlled manner.

Harry nodded his head.

“There is one aspect I know you do not understand. It’s children. You’ve never had children and you have no idea how… crazy it makes a person. I raised Neville’s father along with Morgan Longbottom to be a good man. He was a good man. He gave everything in the fight against Holdequart, just like your parents did, Harry.”

“Yeah, that’s true, and…” Harry rejoined and tried to moderate himself with little success.

“Part of me died when they crushed Frank’s mind. Another part died when Morgan and Claude got killed… and another part when Dimodia died. You already know this, but you have no way to understand what it did to me when they took Frank from me,” she reiterated.

Harry narrowed his eyes in curiosity.

“Harry, what do you think would happen to you if right now Holdequart popped in here, killed Neville, and then just disappeared? He just left you with the death of a fundamental part of yourself and all that misery, what then? What would it do to you?”

The young wizard suddenly felt completely out of his depth. He could not compare what he experienced with the death of Cedric to what she presented. His head slowly nodded.

“I gave birth to Frank Longbottom. He is flesh of my flesh. Neville is, too, by extension. You cannot conceive of the lengths I would go to protected my son and my grandson… and that’s what you perceive as the problem. Perhaps it is. Perhaps I erred in the methods I used, and maybe I was just trying to protect myself from more of that same misery,” she said and heaved. “But ask yourself this if you can imagine it: what would you do to protect your child from something as evil as Lord Holdequart?”

Harry felt as though he got slammed into a wall. He stood at the very brink, the edge, the precipice of his ignorance. He looked to Neville and saw he would sacrifice his life for him without question. However, he could not, no matter how hard he tried, envision what it would mean to be a parent. His face scrunched up his as brain ran in circles.

“Harry, they say your parents, their spouses, laid their lives down to keep you alive. I know there are deep, profound magics a father and mother can impart to their children… child in a moment of crisis. I would say that happened with you.”

“It did,” Harry quietly answered. “But I think Holdequart got rid of some of that by using my blood to create a new body.”

Augusta Longbottom forgot about that, and it stunned her anew.

“But… Mrs. Longbottom, didn’t you ever think… wonder what all this was doing to Neville?” Harry asked and tried to find a middle ground in his mind.

“I couldn’t see past him, Harry. All I could see was Neville. Each time we’d go see Frank and Alice, Neville became larger in my eyes. It blocked out everything else. He became my reason for being. I had to protect him for myself, for Frank, for Alice… for everyone who loved him and sacrificed everything for him. It became my responsibility for all those people.”

“Gran?” Neville mumbled the word.

“I wasn’t trying to hurt you, Neville, no matter what you think,” Augusta said to her grandson and she renewed her grip on the edge of the table. “I never faced The Dork Lord, not like Harry has, and he became this enormous… shapeless evil that threatened you from every corner. Do you know what it’s like trying to protect a person from something you don’t understand… can’t see but it scares you right down to the core?”

Harry stared at the women. Her knuckles turned white as she held onto the table to remain upright. Something clearly caused a tremendous strain in the woman.

“Merlin knows I made mistakes with you, Neville, and ones I never made with your father,” she freely confessed. “And Harry became the face of the thing that scares me most for you. I know it isn’t fair, but when someone mentions The Dork Lord, the only thing I can imagine is him. And he’s just a boy, but… you frighten me so much, Harry. Truly, truly terrify me.”

For the first time since he learned his real history, Harry got an inkling of how others actually perceived him. In the absence of being able to see Lord Holdequart, he became the replacement figure. Mrs. Longbottom shed a brilliant and painful light on the issue.

“And I couldn’t do anything with that fear. I had no place to put it. When Neville told me you two started dating… I imagine I felt some of what you felt when you landed in that cemetery, Harry, and realized where you were. All that fear… and no way to get rid of it. Then when I learned how strongly connected you boys became, it was as though someone trapped me in a dark room with no wand and The Dork Lord hiding in one of the corners,” Augusta Longbottom said and exposed the depth of her fright.

The woman painted a picture Harry could clearly imagine. He felt himself viscerally react. His view of the woman began to alter radically before he could think about it. Harry heard Neville suck in a quivering lungful of air, and he thought his boyfriend might be going through the same reaction. However, Neville likely suffered a more jolting experience because it centered on his grandmother.

“I never believed Holdequart died,” Mrs. Longbottom intoned, her fear palpable. “It just didn’t… feel like he was gone. Then after the Dungeaters captured and tortured my son and Alice and Neville came to live with me, it seemed like we were being hunted, and I couldn’t see who it was. It’s why I was afraid Neville might be a squab at first, but then when I thought he might be a breeder…”

“Gran!” Neville heatedly said her name.

“I thought you were defenseless, Neville. I was wrong, I’ve known that for a while, but the idea you’d have no way to defend yourself against The Dork Lord and what the world would think about you…”

She broke. Mrs. Augusta Longbottom buried her face in her hands and began to sob. Harry and Neville watched her sink to a sitting position on the floor. Neville’s filial instincts kicked in, he dropped his clothes, and he ran to his grandmother. He wrapped his long arms around her and held her close while she continued to wail. Harry felt tears streak down his cheeks. He knew he just witnessed a decade and half of horrendous fear crush a woman he thought made of iron. Harry began to realize his perspective got skewed because he did see Lord Holdequart face-to-face and knew exactly what type of evil he confronted. For almost everyone else The Dork Lord lived as mythic and terrifying figure who could swoop out of the darkness, kill and wreak havoc, and disappear into the night without any explanation or warning. The unknown fear, he suddenly realized, became worse than the known one.

It recalled for Harry how he reacted before each challenge in the tournament. He always felt better once he got into it. Until then, it gnawed at his nerves. Only preparing to face the challenges brought him any sense of relief before the event. His relationship with Neville found part of its origin in the fact Neville helped Harry find a way to channel his nervousness, his fear, regarding the first challenge. Harry looked at Mrs. Longbottom and saw she never got such a benefit. She spent almost fifteen years muddling through trying to protect her grandson against a series of unknown and almost unknowable quantities. Harry faced the fact he rushed to judgment in her case, but one thing did come to mind. After setting his clothes on the table, he walked over to where Neville cradled his distraught grandmother.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Longbottom,” he quietly told her as he crouched before the woman. “I never realized Holdequart did me a favor by showing me his face. You all had to live with stories and legends… and I got spared that. You’ve never seen him, but you’ve seen me. I think I know it’s not me you’re afraid of, but what maybe I represent.”

Without warning Mrs. Longbottom threw her arms around Harry’s neck. She pulled him in close. Harry heard untold years of grief, pain, and worry flood out of her. He slowly returned the embrace. It became clear to him the mistakes she made with Neville stemmed from not knowing what lay outside of her reach and vision. He again thought of the mistakes he made in preparing for the tournament challenges: he never anticipated all the dangers he would encounter. Yet a more primal example existed in his mind.

“When I first learned I was a wizard and heard Holdequart’s name for the first time, I didn’t know enough to be afraid,” Harry told her. “I made Hagrid tell everything he would about what happened to my parents and Holdequart. What I really found out was it was better to know and to talk about it. I think that’s where we all messed up: we never talked about it. We became afraid of what we didn’t know.”

Harry felt the woman’s head started to bob. He loosened his grip and began to lean back. Neville also relaxed his arms. Mrs. Longbottom looked up at him. Her mascara ran down her face and her other makeup got smudged. She reached up with one hand and rested it on his cheek.

“I’m… so sorry… Harry,” she hiccuped the words. “You did. You did. You… became the face… of everything… I feared about Lord… Holdequart.”

“But I’m not him,” he gently refuted.

“I know. I know. I… didn’t know you… either.”

“A lot of people don’t know you, Harry,” Neville said in a scratchy voice. “They know about you, but they don’t know you. Not like I do. Not like Hermione and Ron do. Not like the Weasleys or the guys in our room. That’s the problem, though, isn’t it? All these things we don’t know.”

“I just figured that out, too, Neville,” Harry admitted. “Mrs. Longbottom, I’m not The Dork Lord. I hate everything he does, and I’m going to do my best to keep Neville safe. He’s important to me, too, you know.”

“I know, I know,” the woman said and patted his cheek. She sounded more in control of herself. “I am so sorry about how I behaved toward you, Harry. It was unconscionable of me. And on your birthday no less.”

“Why didn’t you ever talk to Neville about any of this?”

“How? How do you ask your grandson if he’s defenseless or not like everyone else? How do you ask him to confirm what you’re most afraid of?”

“I think you ask because you love him. You ask and the answers shouldn’t matter ‘cause you’ll still love him no matter what he says. You ask because then you know and it’s not as frightening anymore,” Harry carefully answered and stated what he truly believed.

“No expectations, Harry?” Neville knowingly questioned him.

“Except for the truth.”

Mrs. Longbottom patted his cheek again. Harry gazed at her, and she seemed more centered and calm. She lowered her hand.

“Please stay, Harry. Stay for Neville. He’s earned the right to have you here. And I’m asking for the chance to apologize to you,” the woman said with full entreaty in her tone.

Harry nodded.

“You are young, but I see now you’re not stupid. Maybe a bit brash and forward, but that’s to be expected after all you’ve been through. I appreciate you do not suffer fools gladly, and I hope you have it in your heart to forgive me my foolishness toward you,” she further requested.

“I think I have to. Maybe the only way I can be better than Holdequart is to offer and receive forgiveness. He doesn’t have that ability,” he replied.

“I would hazard a guess there are many other qualities that make you superior to him.”

Harry cleared his throat and said: “Mrs. Longbottom, I do have to get one promise from you before I agree to anything.”

“What is it?” The woman said and a touch of her old suspicion returned.

“Promise you’ll talk to Neville, and I mean really talk to him. Listen when he says something, and I mean really listen. This way you won’t smoother him with expectations he knows nothing about,” Harry stated his request in a firm voice.

“All I can promise is that I’ll try, Harry,” Augusta rejoined and sounded serious.

Harry looked at Neville and remembered not that long ago when his boyfriend tried to extract a broad promise out of him, and then accepted what little Harry could promise. He shifted his eyes back to the woman. He cocked the side of his mouth.

“Fair enough,” Harry said and stood. He lowered his hand.

Mrs. Longbottom took it and lifted herself. Neville half picked her up. When she stood, Harry realized he could look her straight in the eye and Neville rose half a head above her. The daunting Mrs. Longbottom seemed diminished, but he saw more of Augusta Longbottom in her place. Perhaps the streaks of mascara on her face or the slightly disheveled hair made the difference, but the woman appeared more human to Harry.

“I met your father and mother on several occasions,” Mrs. Longbottom said while staring at him. “I see both of them in you, Harry. They were good, fine people. You do them honor with what you’ve become. They’d be proud.”

“Thank you,” Harry whispered.

“I think the three of us could do with some sprucing up and perhaps a bite to eat for breakfast,” she said and sounded more like her old self. “Shall we say a half an hour and we meet in the parlor?”

“Okay, Gran,” Neville said first.

“Sure, I am feeling a little peckish,” Harry cautiously agreed.

With some dignity and grace, Mrs. Longbottom turned and started walking toward the hall leading to the bedrooms and bathroom. Harry felt a hand slide across his shoulders, down his back, and then twined with his own hand. Their fingers wiggled against one another. A glow lit in the corner of his eye, and small sense of peace washed over him.

“I love you, Neville,” he softly said.

“Don’t I know it,” Neville rejoined in a soft voice. “Thanks, Harry… and I’m not ever sure for what, but I know it’s something.”

Harry chuckled.

“I love you, Harry,” Neville added.

“Yeah, you do.”

Neville knocked his shoulder against Harry’s. Then hand and hand they started to stroll toward his room. After a few strides, Neville brought them to a halt.

“Say, did you ever think of some place you’d like to go?” Harry’s boyfriend asked.

“I couldn’t come up with anything except for some muggle stuff,” Harry honestly answered.

“Well, do you trust me?”

“Don’t be a prat.”

“Then I’ve got something in mind I think you’ll like a lot,” Neville said.

“How much of it do you already have memorized?” Harry countered.

“Does it matter?”

Harry fixed Neville with a solid gaze. Neville did not flinch. Once again Harry believed fortune smiled upon when Neville became his boyfriend. The summer days of longing taught him much about appreciating small but very important moments. He started to smirk.

“No, I guess it doesn’t,” he agreed to the unspoken assertion.

“You’ll like this because you like answers, and I think you might find a lot of answers at the place I’m thinking of,” the taller of the two young wizards said with confidence.

“Oh, a museum,” Harry instantly concluded. He watched as Neville’s eager face rapidly sagged. “Neville, there are some things about you that aren't hard to figure out. The moment you said answers, I immediately thought of a library, but sort of figured you didn’t mean that. So then I took the next best guess: a museum.”

“Do you have to be so bloody clever?” Neville grumbled at him in a fair approximation of Ron.

“You’ve spent too much time around Weasley,” he replied and started walking again, pulling Neville with him. “Or you’ve been spending the summer practicing imitations.”

“Ever try to imitate Hermione?” His boyfriend inquired.

“I like my jaw just where it is, thank you very much.”

Neville snickered as they walked into his bedroom.


	8. Chapter 8

Mrs. Longbottom, after adjusting and refreshing Harry’s clothing, took them to a local wizarding restaurant. The homey, small environment carried the peculiar air of most magical establishments, and it seemed more natural to Harry. The other customers, attired in clothing spanning at least one hundred years of fashion if the robes got overlooked, chatted amiably, read papers, and went about their normal witch and wizard business. Harry and Neville wore the pendants, although Neville suggested they switch since the previous disguises got compromised at the animal conservatory. Harry looked Greek and Neville appeared Swedish. Not one person batted an eye when they entered.

When they got seated, Harry gazed at the Longbottoms and said: “All right, I’m just going to say it: how do we get over the… awkwardness from this morning? We can’t just pretend like it didn’t happen.”

Neville stared at his grandmother, and she at her grandson.

“Maybe acknowledging it is the first step,” the woman said.

“That was pretty intense, but I think I learned a lot. I sort of feel better it happened,” Neville responded.

Harry and Mrs. Longbottom both eyed him for a moment.

“Well, like Harry said: we don’t talk about a lot of stuff, and it kind of gets distorted after a while. Silence makes it worse, I think.”

“Good point,” Harry agreed.

“Not very British of you, Neville,” Mrs. Longbottom said, but then a little smile lit on her face. “Maybe it’s a fault in the character of our nation, both wizard and muggle.”

“Harry and me discuss just about everything,” Neville said. “He’s not too good at keeping things bottled up.”

“I never understood the point of hiding something from someone when it’s important. I never would’ve got out of the maze alive without talking things over with… with Cedric, Diktor, and Foul. Look at how much George helped me figure out the secret of the butt-plug,” Harry mumbled as he thought about it.

At that point a waitress dressed in what Harry thought looked like a pirate outfit swung by to ask what they wanted to drink. She also announced some items on the menu would not be available. After taking their drink order, and Mrs. Longbottom looked stunned when both Harry and Neville ordered Turkish coffee, she hustled off with a promise to return to gather their food order.

Harry still found himself adjusting to hearing Neville’s voice come out of a Swedish-looking person. He readily admitted his boyfriend looked much better as a blonde than him. Sometimes he caught Neville staring at him in strange ways, and then remembered he also did not look anything like himself. Even though they used their regular names, their appearance truly masked their identities. Even looking at Neville out of the corner of his eye did not reveal the active charm. It seemed Professor Flitwick went far above the call of duty.

Since Harry mentioned it, Mrs. Longbottom took the opportunity to again ask him more questions about the tournament. She carefully referenced it as a contest as she glanced around the restaurant. Thus, Harry spoke in code about the Bi-Wizard Tournament and described further details in covert terms. In the interim, the waitress returned for their order. They continued talked about the tournament even after their food arrived. Mrs. Longbottom seemed particularly interested in the Merscots given her memories of her tenure as a student at Snogwarts. Harry offered his theory that Dumbledore waged a low-level war with the Merscots simply for his own entertainment, and then found a way to utilize the underwater people for the tournament. Neville’s grandmother looked disturbed by Harry’s speculations.

“So you are convinced he has it out for you?” The woman asked him.

“Not just me. I told you he has it in for all the students. The contest gave him a perfect chance to wipe out not only a couple of his own, but a few from other schools as well. Just look at the set-up of all three chall… tasks,” Harry replied and scanned the area around them. He lowered his voice even more. “Dragons? Twice? And the second time he hired the dragon as a mercenary. Only the deal I made with it the first time saved us the second time.”

“The same one we saw yesterday, Gran,” Neville chipped in, and his grandmother nodded.

Mrs. Longbottom seemed exceptionally concerned. She toyed with the knife and the remains of the small breakfast she ordered. Harry used the moment to sop up more egg yolk on his toast, an act that drew some interested stares, and cram it in his mouth. Neville already finished his entire meal and sipped his coffee.

“The only benefit of having him as the headmaster is the… lady-guy is afraid of him. Dumbledore may be a lunatic, but he’s not stupid. He’s got to be one of the most powerful wizards around, and right now he’s our best protection against… you-know-who,” he resumed his thoughts on the subject of the Snogwarts headmaster after swallowing his food.

“Do you feel safe there?” She asked her grandson.

“About as safe as anywhere else I suppose,” Neville answered in a noncommittal manner. “Like Harry said: no place is really safe from… him-her. If Dumbledore scares… him, then it seems like the best protection we can get.”

Harry saw the unease in the woman’s face and added: “Right now Snogwarts is too big of a target. There’s too many skilled witches and wizards of every type at the school, plus the students can use magic there… and I wouldn’t want to be on the wrong end of a wand with either Hermione or Giney Weasley. He’d need an army to take the place.”

His answer appeared to mollify Mrs. Longbottom. However, Harry hoped she did not think around his answer. Lord Holdequart would already be at work amassing his forces. Sooner or later he would begin to strike, Harry knew, and eventually set his sights on Snogwarts as two of his most hated enemies could be found there. It seemed a foregone conclusion to the young wizard based on everything he heard, personally knew, and read.

“But do you truly feel safe, Harry?” Augusta Longbottom unexpectedly turned the question on him.

“Me specifically or in general?” He tried to narrow the scope of the query.

“I suppose you personally and in specific,” she replied.

Harry sat back, took a drink of coffee, and honestly thought about it.

“I guess I feel about the same as Neville, but… well, the training at Snogwarts is top-notch. I don’t know much about the other magical schools, but I managed to hold my own against two other seventh-years from Boobbeatons and Spurmstung… plus a sixth-year from Hufflepuff,” he stated. “What with how some of the teachers act, it didn’t take me long to catch up to everyone else who grew up in wizarding homes. If I take that into consideration, then, sure, I feel safe because I know I can protect myself for the most part.”

Mrs. Longbottom’s gaze returned to her grandson.

“I’m loads better with magic, Gran,” Neville said in a rush as he understood the intent of the look. “I’m not as good as Harry… and, stop making that face, Harry. You’re a bloody good wizard and you know it. Even Hermione says you know what you’re doing.”

“So at least you’re surrounded by competent witches and wizards?” The woman pressed.

“Don’t think he’s weak, Mrs. Longbottom,” Harry stepped up to Neville’s defense. “He’s one of those students who turns what he knows… his intelligence into a pretty wicked weapon. Hermione is at the top of our year, and Neville worries her.”

“Just in herbology.”

“No, mate. I think it goes a lot further than that.”

Harry and Neville conducted a stare-down until Neville’s cheeks went flush and he looked away.

“He doesn’t like to admit he’s good,” Harry quietly said with an air of triumph.

“Shut up,” his boyfriend mumbled through a blush and a grin.

“Well, at least you both sound confident,” the woman said and glanced between them. “At least you’re confident in one another.”

Harry nodded and Neville bobbed his head once.

“All right, gentlemen, where did you decide to go today, Harry?” Mrs. Longbottom asked, thus ending the previous topic.

“Um, Harrah’s in Piccadilly Square,” Harry answered without a single hesitation.

Both the Longbottom’s appeared taken aback by his answer.

“No, just having one on you,” he responded after a few seconds. “I couldn’t think of any place, so Neville came up with an idea.”

“The Hekate Museum,” Neville stated with much less surety than Harry’s suggestion.

“Neville!” His grandmother chastised with his name.

“Gran, think about everything he’ll learn there!” Neville defended his selection.

“It’s sound suspiciously like something you’d enjoy more, and you’ve been there at least a dozen times… if not more.”

“But he’s never been once. Gran, Harry doesn’t live… in our world. The Dursleys don’t take him to places like that.”

Augusta Longbottom shot a skeptical expression at her grandson, but then she turned to Harry. He saw the question on her face. The answer lay in wait on the tip of tongue.

“About three or fours hours before I faced the dragon, Neville told me I should go read up on them in the library to figure out their strengths and weaknesses. That’s what really saved me in that… task. If he says it’d be worthwhile going to this museum, then I want to go,” he replied in earnest.

His hostess considered his answer for a few moments. She gave her grandson another wary look, but then softened a bit. Her eyes narrowed a touch as she pursed her lips.

“Very well, but I insist you tell me if it is not to your liking, and we’ll find something more to your tastes,” the woman said in such a way it came out as a command rather than a request.

Harry received a reminder people could not entirely change at a whim. Mrs. Longbottom would be Mrs. Longbottom regardless of the number of heartfelt conversations they may initiate. Her stern and sometimes unyielding demeanor could not be suppressed for long. It made him wonder exactly what issues they resolved that morning. Despite all that occurred, Harry did privately admit an argument with Mrs. Longbottom beat a berating by the Dursleys any day of the week. He planned to make the most of the rest of the day spent with Neville.

Once the bill for the meal got settled, the trio needed to take the magic bus line to Westerham since it lay outside of Mrs. Longbottom’s apparation range. Despite the rather harrowing method of conveyance, Harry preferred it to the Flue Network or side-apparation. While he might be a little battered and bruised from the trip, he would not arrive covered in ash or with an urgent need to vomit. Standing at the intersection of Hosey Common Road and Hosey Common Lane within Hosey Common, another wooded area hiding a magical community, Harry felt ready to proceed. Neville and his grandmother appeared a bit green around the mouth from the somewhat terrifying if safe transport.

“All right, Neville, lead the way,” Mrs. Longbottom instructed her grandson.

Neville walked up to a sign marking the start of a hiking trail. Harry wondered if they would need to trudge through the forest to get to the museum. However, Neville glanced around, and then produced his wand. He touched it to the letter H in the second trail name listed. Seconds later a shimmering, silvery outline appeared in the air. Neville beckoned. Harry approached and he could see an entirely different scene through portal. He gaped in wonder.

“The trails the muggles use are spatially shifted to above the village. They don’t even know their standing on top of it,” Neville told him as Harry and his grandmother walked through the entrance.

While not nearly a gobsmacking as Mobius Street, the quaint little village of Hosey Common seemed out of another time. Witches and wizards languidly strolled along the narrow lanes between groups of buildings and homes. Harry could not see an automobile anywhere in the vicinity, and he thought he could smell dung from various animals. Neville lead the way down a street named Burleigh. As they walked along, some of the buildings rose to three stories tall. Harry wondered if the muggles simply thought they climbed a steep incline. Above them he could only see the sky.

“We can’t see them, and they can’t see us,” Neville said as he looked up as well. “Be rather odd if we stood here looking up trousers and skirts, wouldn’t it?”

“It would,” Harry could only concur and tried to keep from lifting his head.

“See that big building over there, three stories, with the thatched roof?”

Harry followed the line of sight marked by Neville’s arm.

“That’s the museum,” his boyfriend said when he nodded his head. “It’s a lot bigger than it looks.”

“Magicked house?”

“No, we just can’t see it all from this angle.”

“For a village of this size, it is a rather remarkable museum capturing common life from centuries ago,” Mrs. Longbottom said and kept pace with the two teenagers. “I’m just afraid you may not have the same interest as Neville.”

“Common in what way?” Harry inquired.

“Well, it mostly is a collection of daily life items spanning the last five hundred years or so. Neville likes it because it documents plants they used to grow and how they grew them,” she informed him.

“Some of the species are extinct as far as I can find out, and I’ve been writing to them to see if I can get some seed samples to try and bring them back,” Neville excitedly said.

“I think they’re rather tired of hearing from him,” his grandmother said on the sly to Harry.

As the cobbled street curved slightly to their right, the museum grew larger and larger. It appeared to take up an entire village block. Neville confirmed as much as he began to speak as though he guided a tour group. Once again Harry felt slightly awed at the amount of information contained in Neville’s head that he pulled out with ease when needed. Although he could not tell how, Harry knew it would be invaluable in the future as their efforts against Lord Holdequart progressed.

“He certainly loves this museum,” Mrs. Longbottom said and only sounded marginally sarcastic while the young man carried on as if everyone hung onto each word he uttered. She moved in closer to Harry. “Starting around nine, Neville began asking for books about wizard institutions and museums. He made me take him to as many as he could discover. When not in his garden, we usually spent our days going from one to another regardless of how many times Neville visited it.”

“You may not believe this, but… well, Neville already proved to me this is worth every minute,” Harry seriously replied. “Going to the library, talking to professors, and just sort of collecting stray facts gave me an advantage in the second challenge. That and the fishface lace he gave me. If Hermione were here, she’d beat me up for ever doubting the value of books and museums.”

“She sounds like an interesting young lady…” the woman started to say.

“Calling her a lady will get you a right good thumping,” Harry interjected. “She hates any words or phrases that makes witches sound weak. Hermione is wickedly smart, and she’s got a nasty right hook.”

Harry saw the way Mrs. Longbottom gave him an askance look.

“I’ve gotten a number of bruises from her, sure, but she’s at the top of our class and she’s bailed me out of a number of pinches. It’s very worth it to have her in your corner, even if it does hurt from time to time,” he explained to the expression.

“Talking ‘bout Hermione?” Neville’s joined in. “Best spellcaster in our year, but a little on the grouchy side. She doesn’t take any sh… cr… guff from anyone.”

Harry smirked at the way Neville navigated around certain words. Since they started dating, Neville’s vocabulary expanded, making him sound like most other teenagers. However, both knew it would not sit well with Mrs. Longbottom. As a result, each regulated their normal method of discourse.

“I may be a bit out of step with modern witchcraft,” Mrs. Longbottom said, and it seemed to cap the discussion.

They advanced on the museum. Harry saw the sign pointing to the ticket booth, and he began to walk toward it. A firm but gentle hand landed on his shoulder. He turned to see Neville’s grandmother holding him back.

“Oh, no, young man. This is your birthday, and this is part of your birthday celebration,” she said in a stern voice. “Need I remind you your knuts and sickles should remain in your pocket?”

“No, ma’am,” Harry answered and grinned.

“Very well. Wait here while I go get the tickets.”

As the woman strolled away, his boyfriend sidled next to him. Harry stared at him for a second and almost asked for his identity. The disguise charms seemed flawless in operation. He gave thought to asking Professor Flitwick how the tiny man managed it. The lanky blonde, Swedish-seeming boy gave him a small smile.

“I’d go easy on spending money around her right now, Harry,” Neville cautioned. “I know you can’t probably tell, but she’s treating you a lot different than she did yesterday. Gran’s actually warmed up to you.”

“Oh, yeah, totally obvious,” Harry said and tried to mitigate the amount of sarcasm he used.

“I know you’re joking, but seriously. I’ve never seen her try this hard with anyone before. You should see the way she treats the neighbors.”

“Actually, I did kind of notice it during breakfast.”

“I watched her as you talked about what you faced during the tournament, and she looked scared for you. That whole bit about the water snake still gets to me. Your leg was a right mess, Harry. Madam Pomfrey was relieved when you passed out. I could tell that bothered Gran… oh, and the part about the Merscots made her think twice about Dumbledore,” Neville said in a rush.

He spotted Mrs. Longbottom down by the entrance to the museum. She beckoned, and Harry and Neville began walking toward her. Neville nudged him with a shoulder.

“Let her spend whatever she wants on you, Harry. It is your birthday after all,” his boyfriend said in a loud whisper.

“You do know I’m not used to this? The Dursleys never went out of their way on my birthday,” he replied.

“Well, enjoy it this once!”

Harry thought of how to respond, but he lost the opportunity when Mrs. Longbottom walked toward them. He noted a mild acerbic look on her face. It did not seem out of place.

“Well, here is a new development to add to the books,” she said to them. “The gentleman in the ticket booth actually recognized me, asked where you were, Neville, and gave a me discount when I said I brought a grand-nephew and his boyfriend to see the museum.”

“That’s not so bad, is it?” Harry asked confused.

“Harry, does that give you any indication of how many times we’ve visited this place? Hmm?”

The marked young wizard smirked while he shrugged his shoulders.

“Be forewarned, son of my son: it you engineered this for your benefit on Harry’s birthday, you will answer to me,” Mrs. Longbottom said in a flat, hard voice.

“It’s for my benefit, Mrs. Longbottom. I swear,” Harry stepped in. “Even though I may not look it, I’m kind of excited to see this place. Other that what Professor Binns teaches and some of the reading I’ve done, I don’t know much of anything about wizarding history or how we lived in the past or anything like that.”

The growing heat of the morning created a slight shine on the woman’s face as she scrutinized Harry for a few moments. He knew why. She wanted to make certain he did not say what he did to cover for her grandson. Harry calmly met her stare.

“Well, if that is the case,” and she did not sound convinced, and held out her hand, “here are your tickets.”

“You’re not coming, Gran?” Neville asked when he saw only two slips of paper.

“Neville, I know this museum nearly as well as you. This will give you two a chance to enjoy yourselves without having to suffer me,” she said in much friendlier manner. “Besides, I haven’t shopped in Hosey Common since I can remember when. So, you two go have your fun, and leave me to mine.”

She then directly faced Harry and continued: “Should you find yourself lacking the same passion for the museum as that one, go and wait at the Álfr Tea Room. Ask any on the street where it is located, and then we can plan something else.”

“Gran!” Neville complained.

“This is not a statement about you, Neville,” she clearly fibbed. “But rather I’m offering Harry options should his interests not match yours.”

Her grandson appeared to receive some encoded message and replied: “Yes, Gran.”

“Now, I truly hope you do find the museum interesting,” Mrs. Longbottom said with noticeable sincerity. “If I don’t hear from you or see you in three hours, I will come get you for lunch. All right: off you go!”

Somethings could not or would not be debated. Mrs. Longbottom did not wait for their good-byes or any well-wishing. She simply turned and started walking down the street. Harry and Neville watched her depart. Even in the heat of the morning she appeared composed. He then remembered something the woman said to him the night before, and nudged his boyfriend with his shoulder.

“Neville, can I ask you a question before we go inside?” Harry inquired as he watched the retreating figure of the woman.

“Sure,” his boyfriend mumbled.

“Are there any dragons in this museum?”

“Shut up,” Neville said and chuckled.

With that the two teenagers did an about face and headed for The Hekate Museum. It stood at three squat stories with a thatched roof that appeared lacquered or with some sort of shiny waterproofing. The white walls, intersected at various angles by brown beams, gleamed in the late morning light. The arched sign perched above the entrance looked recently refurbished, yet still managed to appear one hundred years old. The purple lettering with the gold outlining against the black background seemed to glow and pulse. Harry suspected magic. He noted the style of typography as one favored by very old witches and wizards. Before he knew it, he passed under the sign. Neville held the door for him, and Harry stepped into an antechamber that seemed dim after the bright sun.

“Tickets, please,” an elderly woman asked, and she sounded bored.

Dressed in a gown that went out of style in the late seventeenth century made her look like an exhibit. The double-layered dress, loose leggings, and simple waist jacket buttoned at the neck did not give her an air aristocracy. The woven grass bonnet held in place with a plain scarf added to the affect, as well as the drab colors. Harry rather liked the fact she dressed as a commoner instead of all the puffery of the gentry.

Harry and Neville held out the slips of paper.

“Will you be needing a guide or do you want to cause mayhem on your own?” She asked and eyed them.

“I think we’ll be alright on our own,” Neville said in disguised voice, but also in a confident manner.

The ticket-taker shot him a strange look. Neville, to his credit, did not react. He accepted the stubs she handed back to him. The woman continued to stare at him.

“Try not to touch or break anything. Some of the items still have magic in them, and there’s no telling what’ll happen after a couple of hundred years of laying dormant,” she warned in a dire manner.

“How much of this stuff is authentic?” Harry asked.

“All of it, young man. What’s the point of having a museum if you’re just going to stuff it full of replicas and what you think they might have used back in the day? Huh?”

“Fair point,” he replied to the rather gruff tone.

“Oh, and if you’ve got wands with you, keep ‘em pocketed,” she demanded rather than requested. “More than one or two things in there might take in an interest it.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Harry and Neville said in unison.

She reached behind her without looking and snagged a sheet of paper off a table. She thrust it toward Neville. He took it.

“Map of the museum. It’ll show you what’s on each floor when you get to it. It’ll also show you what displays to be careful around,” the elderly woman told them. “I’d pay attention to it if I were you.”

They both nodded.

“Right, get on with you, then. Museum closes at six bells after the noon hour. Make it to the exit as soon as you can, or else you’ll get locked in here for the night. Believe you me: you don’t want to spend a night in here.”

Harry and Neville gazed at her for a moment. She gave them a baleful look. Then her face went slack and she waved them through. The two boys went toward the next set of doors. When they stepped through, Harry instantly understood why Neville loved it so much. The entire atmosphere around them changed when the doors swung shut. The lighting made it feel like either early morning or late afternoon. The air attained a dry, almost dusty aspect one would expect form open and unpaved streets. The museum replicated houses of a staggering variety along a mock street. Neville walked forward with the attitude of one who knew exactly where he stood. Harry gazed around in wonder. No muggle museum ever presented such a realistic scenario.

“This is… amazing,” Harry said as Neville snagged him by an arm and dragged him forward.

“We’re just going to follow it in order,” Neville stated. “Hosey Common got burned down in fifteen-seventy-one ‘cause the muggles figured out it was full of witches and wizards. Most of the stuff we’ll see is from around sixteen-ten or thereabouts once the rebuilding got mostly finished. They still got quite a few older pieces that survived the fire.”

“Puritans?” Harry asked.

“Right on the spot. ‘Cept the Puritans did ‘em favor since it kept Hosey Common out of the civil war. After the fires were put out, they put up invisibility spells. For a long time they made it look like an old, haunted cemetery. Muggles wouldn’t come near if for over two hundred years.”

Harry grinned. He would get a guided tour of the museum and whatever other information Neville decided to spill along the way. They walked into the first house, and he immediately felt the magic in the air. As he glanced around, he saw the elderly woman did not lie: everything looked old and worn.

“Oh, Harry, see that cradle over there?” Neville asked while he dragged his boyfriend toward the object in question.

“Couldn’t miss it now, could I?” Harry replied in a slightly sarcastic tone.

“Hum or sing a lullaby.”

Harry started to hum Suo Gân. After a few seconds, the cradle began to rock in time to the melody. He smiled. Once years ago he heard part of a program on the Dursley’s television about a haunted nursery where the rocking chair would move on its own. Harry ventured a guess it got charmed in the same manner as the cradle. He found the application of the charm fairly appealing. It seemed homey to him.

“That’s nice,” he said, and the cradle stilled when he spoke. “What’s the date on the card?”

“Says it’s from sixteen-fifty or around there,” Neville told him without actually looking at the display card. “Kind of amazing the magic still works, huh?”

Harry nodded and asked: “Show me the stuff no one would think of looking at but hides something interesting.”

His boyfriend’s face split into a huge smile as if he just got asked if he wanted a bucket of galleons. Harry quickly learned Mrs. Longbottom did not use hyperbole when she stated the number of times Neville visited the museum. As if suddenly charmed himself, the lanky teenager adopted semi-professional mannerism and voice as he started to point out various objects in the house display. Harry snickered at first, but soon found himself falling under the spell of listening to Neville. He spoke with authority and a dizzying understanding of the items. They walked slowly through the house while Harry heard about daily life of witches and wizards in the early to mid-seventeenth century.

“Unlike muggles, we knew how to manage our waste,” Neville said twenty minutes later as they neared the end of the first house tour. “See that little room over there? It’s the loo. They’d sit on that board, do their business, and their business would be moved with a bit of spatial magic to main cesspit somewhere close by. We knew better than to pollute our water supplies. That’s part of how the muggles figured out who were witches and wizards.”

“I don’t follow,” Harry said as they stepped out of the house and back onto the artificial street. “How would that be a give-away?”

“No cholera, no typhus, no diphtheria. While the muggles were getting sick and dying, we didn’t. We didn’t even get hit by the plague that much. We created anti-louse spells three or four thousand years ago. Plus, with all the cats and owls hanging around, there wasn’t much of rat or mouse problem.”

They walked down the lane toward an open area while Harry tried to absorb the information. It made complete sense, yet he never would figure it out on his own. Professor Binns and Madam Pomfrey both said magical communities tended to be healthier than their muggle counterparts. Witches and wizards tended to expired from spells improperly cast instead through disease and sickness. The wizarding world stretched the meaning of dying from old age nearly to the breaking point. As Neville explained in the house, infant and mother mortality rates hovered in the low single digits compared to the appallingly high non-magical percentages.

“Notice how you don’t see any human waste lying around on the street?” Neville inquired like a professor testing a student.

Harry glanced around and then said: “Well, it’s a museum, Neville. It’s not like they’re going to leave dung scattered around.”

“But they could use fake stuff,” his boyfriend countered. “But that isn’t the point. We didn’t dump chamber pots in the gutters for the most part. We didn’t leave garbage laying around. It wasn’t just the magic that made us different from the muggles: we lived different. We didn’t get sick as often. We didn’t die off in great waves. While Europe almost got wiped out by bubonic plague, we barely noticed it.”

They stopped before what most would call an open-air display. A small group of patrons came from the other direction and passed them by while looking around. The diorama showed a market scene. Craftpersons and farmers gathered in a square to hawk the services and wares. Harry noticed small stall bearing an Olivander’s sign and a man who looked vaguely like the current Mr. Olivander tending to wands. At another table witches and wizards examined brooms. A horse got outfitted with glittering horseshoes, and it made him wonder exactly what they did. Harry looked for a description card, but it only said ferrier.

“Neville, what sort of shoes are they putting on that horse?” He asked.

“Um, I think those are swamp shoes,” Neville said and seemed to be searching his brain. “You know how boggy it gets in the spring and fall. Look at the wheels on the cart. Same metal and enchantment. Keeps ‘em from getting stuck in the mud as they move around from village to village.”

“That’d be helpful.”

“Harry, look over at those veggies and other crops.”

Once more his eyes followed the outstretched arm. It pointed to greengrocer standing near crates and barrels. Inside the containers Harry saw produce at least three times larger than any he saw in any muggle grocery store. Two pumpkins the size of Mr. Weasley’s Anglia sat off to one side. Squash two times larger than Harry’s head rested nearby. When he saw the tomatoes, he paused.

“Hold on, Neville. I thought people gave up eating tomatoes ‘til the late eighteenth century because they thought they were poisonous. Look at those red monsters over there. This can’t be right,” Harry nearly complained.

“We figured out tomatoes reacted with pewter, so they only got served on wood or cooper trenchers. Look over there,” his boyfriend exclaimed and swung his arm around. “See the different types of plates and dishes. Superstition, mate, ruled the day for muggles.”

“And not us?”

“It actually does a little, but it’s what we do with superstition that makes the difference. We study it. We find out what’s behind it. Then we decided whether or not to be afraid of it,” Neville said in a somewhat haughty manner.

“Like Holdequart?”

“You’ve got to admit The Dork Lord’s got some history behind him. People do remember what he… she did last time, so it’s not like people are just jumping at shadows.”

Harry begrudgingly and silently agreed the taller teenager made a point. He stared at the enormous produce. Questions lined up in Harry’s mind, but he did not know where to begin. One item of interest, however, took center stage.

“All right, Neville, what I don’t get is how come the magical world isn’t more advanced, further along, than the muggles?” Harry inquired. “Sometimes it looks like we’re stuck a century behind.”

“You mean like with electronics and cars and going to the moon and all that?” Neville requested clarification of the question.

“I guess.”

“Would you rather have a telly or your wand?”

“What? My wand, or course,” Harry instantly answered.

“Ever try to watch a television when you’re toying around with your wand?” Neville asked in a deceptively innocent manner.

“Of course not. Our magic makes elec… and now you’re going to tell me to think things through, right?”

“Maybe a little,” his boyfriend said with a small grin. “We haven’t found a way yet to make our magic compatible with muggle devices. Why do you think they got a whole department of aurors dedicated to the misuse of muggle artifacts? Our magic makes their devices go all screwy, and their electronics make our magic go sideways.”

Harry listened and stared at the frozen scene. Except for the clothes, what got depicted could take place in Snogsmeade. He granted his exposure to and knowledge of other magical communities seemed rather sparse. Harry thought of Mobius Street, and it suddenly hit him that magical business district compared favorably to modern muggles shopping plazas. Diagon Ally seemed somewhere between Snogsmeade and Mobius Street. It gave Harry an itch to look around Hosey Common. Neville nudged him.

“Think about the Wiz-Viz Tuner you gave me,” Neville said as a wide smile crossed his face. “Excellent gift, Harry, but doesn’t that sort of look we’re trying to invent our own versions of muggle devices? I think it shows our two worlds sort of feed off one another.”

Harry nodded his head and replied: “Sure, and I guess we were more advanced than the muggles at this time, even if we didn’t understand biology and viruses and all that.”

“We knew better than to live in our own filth. A lot of evidence points to our understanding some connection between cleanliness and disease. Come on, I’ll show you something.”

Neville lead him to another house display. The signs stated the artifacts survived since the 1660s. The unusual-looking Swedish version of Neville lead Harry inside. The house did not seem much different from the first into which they stepped, except Harry noticed a lot more intricately carved wood, finer metal working, and shaped glass. His boyfriend looked at one corner of the house where someone obviously took a bath in a large wood and oilcloth tub.

“You’ll hardly find a tub in muggle commoners houses from the same period,” Neville said with certainty. “Magical folk bathed regularly, and that’s because… well, a form of sexism at the time. Witches were in charge of natural medicines and figuring out which plants were beneficial and which ones to avoid. Look at the book sitting on that desk over there? I’ve begged a dozen times to get them to let me read it.”

Harry walked over and looked at cover. In black letters on the leather cover he read, Medicinis Uti Ab Herbis Et Plantis. While Latin often presented Harry with problems, the title seemed clear to him. It also spelled out why Neville would be interested in it. Even the look on his boyfriend’s face gave away the secret.

“We’ve got the smaller version at Snogwarts, but I’d give almost anything to read that one!” Neville exclaimed.

“I’ll be, if he isn’t back for another gander,” a woman’s voice said from the doorway. “Jasper will be glad to hear… oh, Neville, what’ve you done with yourself?”


	9. Chapter 9

Harry and Neville stood staring at a somewhat portly woman dressed in period clothing. He red and gray hair sat tucked neatly under a simple bonnet. The leaf-green eyes set in the round face intently scanned the two boys. Her hands seemed to be on automatic pilot as they smoothed down her pinafore.

“That was Neville’s voice coming out of that face, and he’s one of the few people who’d understand what’s in that book,” she stated in a strange mix of anger and shock. “Now, try to convince me you’re not Neville Longbottom.”

Neville sagged a bit. His head dipped. After a moment he sighed.

“Mrs. Fressell, please, it’s not what you might be thinking,” Neville begged her.

The woman’s face shifted from one of anger and shock to confusion as she walked into the display house. Harry could see one hand slipped into a side pocket, and he guess she took hold of her wand. He feared what would happen if a wand duel suddenly broke out. The stray magic floating around in the museum would probably ignite.

“Yes, it’s me, Neville, and there’s a reason for all… this,” he said and indicated his entire body. “It’s the only way my boyfriend can move around in public without drawing attention to himself.”

“Oh, you’ve a boyfriend now, eh, and you’ve got to keep him secret? Hmm? What sort of boyfriend is that, Neville, if he’s too embarrassed to be seen with you?” Mrs. Fressell charged, and her grip seemed to tighten on her wand.

“I’m not embarrassed to be seen with him!” Harry immediately rose to Neville’s defense as his hackles raised. “I’m the one he can’t be seen with. Get it?”

“And what makes you so frightful Neville’ll suffer for it?”

“He’s Harry Potter,” Neville quietly said.

The woman’s eyes doubled in size.

“Mrs. Fressell, I’m not having one over on you. I’m Neville and that is Harry Potter, my boyfriend. I’m sure you read about what happened back in February at the tournament at Snogwarts.”

“I read a lot of things I don’t put much stock in,” she harrumphed the words. “One question then, if it’s really you: what’s in that book you’re so bloody interested in?”

“The Medicins journal? Easy. That’s the only one I know that’s got any real information about festerwart in it, and a load of other plants we don’t use anymore. The copy we have at Snogwarts is only an abridged version,” Neville deftly explained. “Please, please, please let me read that book. I know it’s an original and I’d be really careful… and you can watch me the whole time and even turn the pages when I’m done reading one… and even get my Gran to make sure I don’t do anything…”

“All right, Neville, I believe you,” Mrs. Fressell said with a chuckle and her entire demeanor changed. “You’re the only person I know who gets that excited about it… and about festerwart.”

She finished walking into the house and made a visual inspection of both of them. Neville felt completely comfortable with the scrutiny, but he saw the look of discomfort on Harry’s face. He hoped his boyfriend would follow his lead. Neville trusted the woman. She and her husband toured the museum with Neville on several occasions, and he felt certain they imparted knowledge to him few others received. However, Harry did not know that.

“How do I know that’s really Harry Potter under that disguise?” The heavyset woman inquired.

“I could drop it, and you could watch Lord Holdequart and the Dungeaters swarm this place,” he coldly responded.

Mrs. Fressell drew in a sharp breath at the sound of one name, like most in the magical community.

“Mrs. Fressell, you can’t let anyone know it’s Harry. We got these disguises so he could go out and enjoy his birthday for once,” Neville implored her.

“I heard someone say Harry Potter was at Scamander’s zoo yesterday, and there was a bit of a dust-up with a dragon. Yeah?”

Harry rolled his eyes and said: “I didn’t know dragons could kind of see through charms, and Lord Pusztító saw right through mine from at least a hundred meters away. Sort of wrecked our day at the park.”

“Fudge that, Harry!” Neville rebuked him. “Getting to talk that the dragon and then Newt Scamander… and getting that signed copy of his book! Harry, it was brilliant!”

“Oh, that’s definitely, Neville,” the woman said with a chuckle. “And he’s not one for fibbing, so I guess… Mr. Potter, a pleasure to meet you.”

“Stop with that mister nonsense. I’m only fifteen…”

“As of today,” his boyfriend interjected.

“Well, a merry birthday on you, then,” she told him in a friendly manner. “Seems like more bad planning on your part. Neville had to know we’d recognize his voice anywhere… no matter what face it came out of.”

“Didn’t think you’d be around today. Thought Wodhed managed on Tuesdays,” Neville said in a slightly confused manner.

“Normally, yes, but he and Maude are off this week for their granddaughter’s wedding. Julia is marrying a wonderful girl from up over in Aberdeen. They say she’s got an uncanny way with sheep and pigs,” Mrs. Fressell said and seemed more than willing to settle into a friendly chat. “And why on earth do you think they’d wouldn’t recognize your voice?”

“Well, Mr. Wodhed’s hearing isn’t so keen these days unless Mr. Gent is around, and Mr. Gent tends over at The Four and Ten most of the time. Honestly thought Shirl and Jacqueline would be running the tours today,” Neville.

“And which one of them did you think you could slip by?”

“Seriously, Neville, how many times have you been here?” Harry felt forced to ask.

“He comes by two, maybe three times a summer if Mrs. Longbottom let’s him have his way. She often goes to play backgammon with Mr. Gent and have a sip of sherry,” the woman said and pressed a finger to her chin in thought. “This is – what? – your seventh or eight year coming here?”

“Eighth,” Neville mumbled.

“Neville, is this were you first figured out you liked gardening?”

“Maybe,” his boyfriend said and shrugged.

“What? He hasn’t dragged you through the gardens out back yet?”

“I was getting there. Thought we’d get to it through the museum first,” Neville said and suddenly brighten. “We actually came here for Harry. He’s doesn’t really have a good understanding of our world. Got raised by muggles, and they’re awful!”

“I am learning things from Neville I didn’t know about and some of it kind of surprised me,” Harry confessed.

“Well, you got one of our best guides in him. We tried to talk his grandmother into letting Neville work here during the summers, but she seemed oddly put off by the idea. She didn’t seem to like the notion of him being away from home other than for school. She told Stan, Mr. Wodhed, my wife’s brood-sire, that it might be dangerous. Never could figure out why ‘cept for maybe after what happened to his dad and his grandfather,” the woman said in a voice that grew quieter as she spoke.

“What happened to your granddad?” Harry asked his boyfriend.

“He got killed, but I don’t know how. They say I saw it happen when I was a toddler, but I don’t remember anything,” Neville explained while staring at the floor.

“That explains the threstals.”

Neville nodded.

“Threstals! Ooh, them are a bad omen,” Mrs. Fressell intoned.

“No, not really. Just misunderstood like a lot things,” Harry defended the odd, skeletal-like winged horses.

Mrs. Fressell gave him a long look before saying: “You is an odd one what with the way you throw about you-know-who’s name and not knowing about what threstals portend.”

“Death. I get it. You can only see them if you’ve seen someone die,” he replied in a flat voice. “I saw my mother get killed when I was baby by Holdequart. My friend Luna explained to me about them, and they’re really kind of interesting creatures once you know something about them.”

One again the stout woman flinched at the sound of Holdequart’s name.

“He’s not afraid of him,” Neville murmured.

“Sod off, Neville. The Dork Lord scares the willies of out me, and you know it, but you also know why I have to fight him!”

Both Neville and Mrs. Fressell gazed at him with completely opposite expressions. Neville wore a wry grin as if he intended to get under Harry’s skin, which he did, and Mrs. Fressell appeared amazed, if not a bit stunned, at his reactions. Harry slowly shook his head.

“And here you were telling me we’re not a superstitious lot,” Harry chastised his boyfriend.

“I said with good cause,” Neville rejoined. “Holdequart is good cause, and you know that.”

Harry nodded and shrugged.

“Boys, please that name,” Mrs. Fressell begged.

“Fear of a name only increases the fear of the thing itself,” Harry immediately responded. “It’s ridiculous to be afraid of his name. You’re not afraid to say bogart or werewolf… even Fen-rearend Greyback, are you, Mrs. Fessell?”

“It’s Fressell, Mis… Harry,” she corrected him.

“Well?” Harry prodded her when she did not answer his question.

“If he’s really back…”

“He is,” he interjected. “I watched him get a new body. He used my blood for part of it so my protective enchantments don’t work against him anymore. Holdequart is back, and we need to fight him. All of us. Start by saying his name. You give him some small power over you if you’re simply afraid of his name.”

Neville watched and felt a surge of both admiration and pride in the way Harry refused to be cowed in any manner by Lord Holdequart. He also heard something in Harry’s voice he never quite detected in the past: visceral anger. Neville expected hatred, but that emotion appeared absent. It seemed strange Harry did not espouse that, yet it added to Neville’s admiration.

“Perhaps, perhaps,” the museum matron muttered.

“Mrs. Fressell,” Neville calmly said her name. “If he’s not afraid of Holdequart’s name… him, Harry Potter, who’s got more reason to fear him than any of us, why shouldn’t we follow his lead?”

“Decent point, Neville. It’s just all these years… long since before you were even born. Maybe we just got used to avoiding it,” Mrs. Fressell said in a thoughtful tone. “It’s sort of like how back in the old days nobody spoke the name of someone condemned to die.”

“Really? Why?” Neville asked before Harry.

Mrs. Fressell glanced around. Few people visited the museum that day. Then she glanced at the two now fifteen-year old boys.

“Neville knows a little bit, but did you ever hear about Black Livia de Lisle, Harry?”

Harry shook his head, and then saw Neville’s reaction. His boyfriend looked as uncomfortable as if he did during the previous years when he heard Holdequart’s name. The piqued Harry’s curiosity.

“Come on, you two. There’s something Harry needs to see, and I’m not sure you’ve ever seen this, either, Neville,” Mrs. Fressell said and spun about on a boot heel.

She marched out of the display house with a sense of purpose. Neville automatically began to follow her. Harry followed Neville. If the now truly lanky teen trusted the woman, then Harry decided he would ride the coattails of that trust. Mrs. Fressell lead the boys through the museum. They passed a number of exhibits Harry cataloged in his head of what he would like to see later. Their impromptu guide took them straight to a door marked for employees only and whispered some words as she bent closer. The lock clicked, and Harry realized the alohamora spell would never work on it. She pushed open the door. Behind it lay a small hallway with a set of stairs at the far end. To this Mrs. Fressell continued her march.

They climbed the switchback stairs until they reached the third floor. With seeming dire purpose, Mrs. Fressell took them down the short corridor. Instead of going through the door Harry thought would lead them to the displays, she stopped before a door that bore no markings or even a knob. She glanced at Neville.

“Ever been in the private collection, Neville?” She asked, and Neville’s head swung back and forth. “Most of this is from the… let’s say the darker periods of Hosey Common. Some of it goes back to twelfth century when we fled from the Normans. Remember the warning you got about wands before you got let in?”

“Yeah: keep ‘em pocketed,” Neville said in a rush.

Harry nodded, and he heard his boyfriend barely containing his excitement and interest.

“That goes double in here. There are some things we got in there that’ll come right after you if they get a whiff of fresh, open magic. You might be a bloody good wizard, both of you, but here there are objects… specimens, I reckon, that can attach themselves to you. Permanent, like, and will make your lives a living a hell… or a worse than that. Am I clear?”

The threat in her voice did not fall on deaf ears. She took a turn on each holding their gaze for a few seconds as if to hammer the point into their skulls. Almost unconsciously Harry reached down and pushed his wand deeper into his pocket. Neville did the same.

“Right. Mouth’s shut, pay attention to what’s around you, and listen to me. We won’t stay too long,” Mrs. Fressell said, but the last bit sounded directed at herself.

The woman drew a complex pattern on the front of the gray door. It glowed a faint purple color. When she finished, the door silently swung open on its own. Harry and Neville both caught their breath as whatever lay behind the door seemed to exhale. A dry, old smelling air wafted over them. Mrs. Fressell lead them into the area that seemed to take up half the floor. A series of skylights arranged in long banks across the ceiling allowed light in. It struck Harry as odd that despite the light of a near high midday pouring in, a gloom hung in the room. The rays from the sun overhead did not seem to reach the floorboard, and a perpetual twilight existed from the knees downward.

“Right,” the woman said as if stealing herself. “This way.”

As they walked along behind her, both boys glanced nervously from side to side. They heard the door click closed behind them. Racks, shelves, and sealed cases ran in all directions. An order appeared to be in operation, but neither could determine what it could be. Harry felt as though a myriad of eyes watched him move, and some with very dire intent. Neville looked around, and he saw dark shadows shifting about. The temperature of the air seemed to drop, and he could not detect any air conditioning or climate controls such as got used on the other floors to help conserve the displays and objects. His skin turned into goose flesh. Neville saw Harry’s exposed skin on his arms and neck also respond in the same fashion. He moved over and took Harry’s hand. Harry immediately seized it.

“Great Merlin!” Mrs. Fressell said several moments later and wheeled about to face them. “What is one of you doing?”

“What?” Harry asked.

“Nothing,” Neville honestly replied.

She scanned them as if trying to detect some wrong-doing, but the woman also bore a puzzled expression. When she looked down at their feet, Harry and Neville did the same. It astounded Harry when he could actually see the details of his shoes instead of a murky image in the gloom. A space of little under a half a meter surrounded them that looked free of the ambient atmosphere. It looked like sunshine on them.

“Harry, the illumitus amorem,” Neville whispered. “I think it’s that.”

“The what?” Mrs. Fressell half-demanded.

“Um, well, hard to explain, but Neville and me, we sort of – how would you say? – really fell in love,” Harry stammered through the opening of an explanation. “So, ah, when we touch, we sort of… well, not sort of, we do, as you can see…”

“You’re babbling, Harry,” the woman grunted at him.

“It’s, ah, love lights, Mrs. Fressell,” Neville said in a more or less straightforward manner.

Her eyebrows made an attempt to touch the rim of her bonnet.

“Honestly, it is,” Harry added.

“Don’t let go of each other,” she ordered them. “The… stuff here can’t handle it. And do you mind if I stand next to you?”

“No,” Neville answered as Harry shook his head.

Mrs. Fressell wasted no time and stood right next to Neville.

“Oh, my!” She exclaimed in a hush.

“If we weren’t wearing the charms, you’d sort of see a light glowing around us,” Harry stated.

“I don’t need to see it, Harry. I can feel it. What I mean is I can’t feel… them, it… all that bad magic built up in the pieces in this part of the museum. Your love light is pushing it back. Extraordinary!”

“You need to tell my gran this, Mrs. Fressell. She doesn’t quite understand what it really means,” Neville requested.

“Never heard of anyone as young as you generating this, but it’s real. Happens to me and Maude sometimes,” the woman told them, and a twinge of envy carried in her voice. “Anyway, over this way… and don’t stray too far from me.”

Mrs. Fressell walked more slowly so she could remain in the circle of natural enchantment. Harry felt like he could breathe with greater ease. The uncomfortable prickling sensation no longer annoyed Neville. They traveled another dozen meters before woman brought them to a halt. They stood before a device Harry and Neville both immediately recognized. It sent a wave horror through them as the details of it made its way from their eyes to their brains. A slightly conical metal mass loosely decorated as a woman with a slit where the eyes should be stood staring back at them.

“They call it the Lady-in-Waiting of Black Livia de Lisle,” Mrs. Fressell said in a low voice. “Took four days before the blood stopped flowing, and then another two months before she actually died.”

“That’s impossible,” Harry mumbled.

“Tell me about that blood Ho… what’s his name took from you?”

Harry got a short but vivid lesson.

“Black Livia came out of Tamworth, there or about, in thirteen-oh-three. They say she was a daughter of rape at the hands of one of Longshanks’ nobles…”

“Who?” Harry asked.

“Edward the first. You know? The one William Wallace gave all the trouble to,” she peevishly told him as if the interruption offended her.

“Yeah, right,” he mumbled.

“We figure she was between twenty-five and thirty years old when she got to Hosey,” the woman continued. “What we do know for certain if she cursed and hexed her way from Tamworth to London, through London, and headed this way with both muggles and wizards chasing her. She went after minor nobles and supporters of Edward.”

“What’d she do? I mean her curses and hexes,” Harry inquired.

“She… alright, this is pretty disgusting, but… Black Livia could make herself look like a beautiful young boy or girl, and then she’d bed her target. Then their, ah, fun bits would rot. Sometimes the, um, twins in the sack or the cattle horns in a woman would explode. More than one story says nipples would turn black and fall off.”

Both Harry and Neville contracted a bit.

“She’d do it to the eyes, too. They say the blood of her victims would run black from some sort of poisoning or curse she’d lay on them,” Mrs. Fressell told them and showed the decency to sound disturbed. “The more they chased her, the worse she got. She stopped caring about who she cursed. Not a lot of witches or wizards knew about the killing curses since only royals and nobles got trained in it, but Black Livia devised her own. Ever hear about the weeping death?”

Both boys moved their heads from side to side.

“Bleed to death out of the eyes and ears. No way to stop it, either. The worst part is a good number women started to follow her. That’s why witch burning got so bloody popular. That only made her a lot more angry. But if you know anything about our history, even just the history of England, then you know how the French mages treated us after William arrived. Ever wonder why stocks got invented?”

“You mean like in…” Neville started to say, and the raised his arms, let his hands go limp, and let his head dangle.

“Those are the ones, even the legs ones, and they’ve been around for a couple of thousand years. The standing stocks are a neat way to neutralize magic folk, especially the ones built of hard oak. They’d inscribe it with counter-spells to torture witches and wizards,” Mrs. Fressell related. “’Cept Black Livia figured out how to get out of them. She learned non-verbal magic somewhere along the way, probably while she was still in Tamworth, and stocks couldn’t hold her. Do you know how long Black Livia carried out her reign of terror?”

She received a negative response.

“Over forty years since the first recorded act of hers in thirteen-oh-three. They say Longshanks died of a disease she cursed him with. Don’t know if she ever got close enough to him to do it, but she likely made a few attempts. Black Livia despised him. They say she cursed his son, Edward the Second, and bedeviled his entire reign. She and her followers killed a lot of people. Edward the Third finally put a bounty on her head in thirteen-twenty-nine, but no one ever collected it. It took Edward the Third and his entire mage army to finally corner and capture Black Livia.”

Mrs. Frissell then pointed to the torture device and said: “They say this is the only maiden ever used to actually kill a person, magical or otherwise. They started her execution in April of thirteen-forty-five and she finally died sometime in mid-June of that year. They put an iron clamp on her head to keep her jaw closed up tight, but she somehow got out of it. She cursed anyone who looked at her, and a few even got past the spells they put on that thing. Rumor was even the Grim Reaper was too afraid of her to come and collect her soul, and that’s why it took so long for her to die.”

“Core,” Neville breathed out the word in amazement.

“They say the name Black Death came from hers. The pustules, vomiting blood, black blood… all of it looked like Black Livia’s work. Most people don’t remember her, and don’t want to from what I can gather, because she killed so many. The Dork Lord may fancy himself the worst wizard what ever lived, but take a look around this part of the museum and you’ll find lots of others who’ll challenge him for that title. Black Livia de Lisle is likely the darkest witch outside of Morgan le Fay… and that was just a fight between her and Merlin.”

“Okay, this is… interesting and all, but why show me?” Harry asked.

“Your dark wizard is different in one way from what I can tell: he turns people against themselves. That’s a powerful magic we haven’t really seen before. It’s a hallmark of a real evil dark witch or wizard: they invent new ways to do terrible things with magic,” Mrs. Frissell all but summarized the lesson for him.

“And you think his name is a way to get in? To get started?” Harry guessed.

“Some do. Hard to say if it does or not,” she answered. “The Dork Lord’s vendetta is bigger than what Black Livia set out to do. It looks like she mostly wanted to take down the nobles she blamed for harming her people. She just got into the spirit of it and got carried away. Her own goals corrupted her it seems. Same with Hector Mumsley back in middle eighteen century. He got angry with George the Third and cursed him into madness. There wouldn’t be a United Stated were it not for him. But Hold… He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Fucked is still different from that.”

Both Harry and Neville listened with great interest.

“Near as I can figure, The Dork Lord wants to take over all witches and wizards, and then go after the world. He’s got a big vision, and it seems like he has a plan to see it through. The others always kept their actions more or less local.”

“What about Grindelwald and Hitler?” Neville instantly challenged.

“Sure, sure, but still not the same, Neville. They wanted magical kind to rule over muggles,” Mrs. Frissell countered. “But The Dork Lord wants to rule over witches and wizards as well. He wants us to be like him. No other dark witch or wizard ever wanted or tried that.”

Harry stared at the device used to end the life of Black Livia de Lisle. It seemed to stare back with sinister intent. Part of him wanted to ask a specific question, but he felt he already knew the answer. The remains of Black Livia never got removed for the iron maiden. It seemed certain he and Neville gazed at her final resting place.

“There’s a few more I want to show you since it relates to what The Dork Lord is doing,” Mrs. Fressell told them and seem rather anxious to move away from the horrid exhibit.

As they walked along, Harry began to understand why a gloom filled that part of the museum. All the horrendous acts and terrible memories appeared to gather. The objects, likely imbued with dark magic, warped the very air. Never in his life did Harry ever get such a vivid impression of that type of magic. Mrs. Fressell stopped before a case holding a single wand. She explained one of Grindelwald’s followers used it to torture several muggles to death. While hiding from authorities in a town half a kilometer south, Crockham Hill, he drowned in culvert. Someone found his wand floating in a small stream and turned it over to The Hekate Museum.

“Oh, this is an interesting one,” the woman said and pointed to what looked like a muggle straight jacket. “There’s nothing inherently magical about it… meaning it didn’t start out that way. Ever hear the nursery rhyme of Wee Willy Winky?”

Harry nodded, but Neville did not.

“Oh, wee Willy Winky runs through the town, upstairs, downstairs, in his nightgown,” Mrs. Frissell recited in a sing-song voice. “Tapping at the window and crying through the lock, are the wee ones in bed for ‘tis past eight o’clock.”

“Yeah, I heard that once a long time ago. Sounds like the Wee Willy Winky was a bit on the loony side,” Neville said when paused.

“You’re not off there, Neville,” the woman concurred and stood in a very practiced manner. “Willy Winky, or rather William Winkers, tried to create a fountain of youth potion. He made a potion, but it twisted his mind. It made him younger, but with adult… erm, appetites. Winkers did ghastly things to children, but they never suspected him because the children said another child did it to them. Took them a few years to figure out who it was, but they got him. Robert Louis Stevenson used Willy Winkers as the basis for Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Stevenson called him Mr. Hyde because of most of Winkers victims lived around the Hyde Park area.”

“So… what’s with the straight jacket then?” Harry asked.

“Ah, yes, Winkers lived out the rest of his days in this very jacket. He got addicted to his potion and going after children in very, very unwholesome ways. When they caught him, they thought him a child until he changed while sitting in custody. The Ministry authorities decided to keep him for a couple of days to observe what he did, and Winkers started to lose his mind when he couldn’t get to his potions. They wrapped him in this straight jacket, and it’s where he stayed for eight years. People who handle the jacket say they can feel his madness in it,” the curator explained.

“Have you ever touched it?” Neville asked and tried not to sound too excited.

“Twice, and both times I started getting the most inappropriate notions in my head. Stayed with me for several hours afterward.”

“What happened to the jacket to make it like that?” Harry returned to the object in question.

“Louis… Mr. Gent theorizes that Winkers sweat and other bodily fluids soaked into the material, and those were tainted by the potion in his system. We’ve never had the jacket tested, but we consider Mr. Gent’s theory as good an explanation as any.”

“So… here’s something I don’t understand,” Harry said after a few seconds. “Did the potion make the man prefer children or did the potion simply let him be who he really was?”

“You read Stevenson’s book, didn’t you?”

Harry grinned and replied: “Yeah, three summers ago. I heard part of the movie on the Dursley’s telly, and then I got the book the next time I went to the library.”

“Even Stevenson didn’t know the answer to that. It’s sort of the big question in the story, isn’t it?” The woman asked.

“I guess, but I also think something had to be wrong with him from the start. Aren’t there conservation laws about magic? Can’t make something that doesn’t already exist, right?”

“What about transfiguration?” Neville challenged and ran a hand through his blonde strands.

“You’re already starting with an object. Remember what McGonagall says about trying to make a mountain out of a mole hill?” Harry replied and Neville began to slowly nod his head.

“Minerva’s a sharp one, so I’ll take her word on it,” Mrs. Fressell stated. “Seems reasonable to say Wee Willy Winky was already a bit turned ‘fore he started mucking about with them potions.”

“I’m also thinking about what Snape says about things like love potions: those only really work on people who are looking for love in the first place. It only enhances what’s they want to feel,” the shorter of the two teenagers added.

“Fair point there, but the argument still isn’t settled. Ever wonder what might’ve happened if someone bought one of Hitler’s paintings or encouraged his love of art?” The woman responded and deftly re-opened the other avenue of the debate.

Harry and Neville glanced at one another and shrugged a bit.

“There’s one last bit I’d like to show you ‘fore I send you two off on your own,” Mrs. Fressell told them. “After this Neville can guide you on his own, Harry, and we shouldn’t stay too long in this part of the museum.”

As before, Mrs. Fressell started moving, but not so far as to leave the perimeter of their illumitus amorem. The trio weaved a bit unsteadily down a main hall, and then turned to their left at the woman’s behest. After a dozen meters or so, she turned again. Within three meters Harry and Neville both felt something press against them. They held tighter to each other.

“Not a lot of people know we have this, and the Ministry asked us not to announce it. Sometimes we get a scholar with special permission who comes in to study it,” their guide stated and then came to a halt in front of a peculiar, very large, and somewhat ordinary-looking piece of rock. “Any idea what you’re looking at?”

Neither boy answered, but both could feel a subtle pulsing in the air that seemed to originate from it.

“On the other side of that big piece is a large piece of crystal. You can just see the edge of it if you squint,” Mrs. Fressell said and pointed. “A bit yellow in color. Some parts are almost clear, but most of it translucent. Any guess as to what it might be?”

“Did it power something?” Neville asked.

“No, can’t say it did that, but good guess. No, what you’re looking at is part of the base and some of the crystal Morgan le Fay used to trap Merlin.”

The two teenagers let their mouths fall open.

“Yes, me lads, the consort of Mab, mother of Mordred, half-sister of Artur, and student and nemesis of Merlin crafted that to contain and hold her teacher. It still bears part of the cipher she wrote herself, and that’s why it doesn’t face in this direction.”

“Core,” Neville breathed out the word.

“Blimey,” Harry chimed in.

They stood in silence and simply observed the innocuous seeming rock. While Merlin tended to grab the lion’s share of the spotlight, no one discounted Morgan le Fey. Neville privately thought about the fact he bore part of her name. It made him wonder if he might be related to her. Harry wrestled with tying to curtail his muggle-imbued notion the rock only symbolized a bit of an Arthurian fairy tale. However, a strange sense of power wafted from it. For over a minute the trio remained quiet.

“Wasn’t an easy time for witches back in the late sixth century, at least not in England and Europe. Females had to be invited by a wizard to get any training no matter how much ability they had. Sometimes they learned on their own. It’s how our version of covens got started: women meeting in secret to teach each other their arts and ways,” Mrs. Fressell quietly said, but her contempt for the historical sexist practices rose to the fore.

“And did she really beg Merlin to teach her some of the dark arts?” Neville asked and shifted around on his feet.

“Not quite. She begged him for any training, and he turned out to be miserly with his training. There’s a lot evidence she probably had more natural power than him, and Merlin feared her. He didn’t want the competition, so he would only train her so much. Problem was once she got a basic understanding and taste of it, she started to teach herself.”

“It doesn’t sound like you think she was evil,” Harry half-inquired.

“She wasn’t, Harry, least ways not if you take everything into consideration, and they still don’t teach what really happened,” the woman said in partial grumble. “You should read about all the obscurials that existed back then ‘cause witches weren’t given the chance to exercise their powers. Think about how often women are associated with dark magic. Books never tell you why, but think on it.”

“So you’re saying everything Morgan le Fey did she did because she got forced to do it?” Neville questioned, and Harry thought it a good one.

Mrs. Fressell looked at him while apparently weighing her answer and then replied: “I wouldn’t say forced, but Merlin didn’t leave her a lot of choices. Plus, Merlin was trying to manipulate blood lines to make a grand sorcerer, and she didn’t have any tuck with that. You do know magic flows through the mother and not the father?”

“That hasn’t been proven,” Harry stated.

“Says who?”

He and the woman stared fixedly at one another. In the interim, Harry probed his mind to find a source for his contention and came up empty-handed. However, he did not rescind his claim.

“I thought so. Ever read what the Jewish people say about bloodlines?”

“A person’s mother has to be Jewish in order for that person to be considered properly Jewish,” Neville said, and saw the strange glance Harry threw at him. “Mrs. Machabee down the street is Jewish. She explained it to me once.”

“There’s part of the reason why people go funny about the Jews: they elevate women as equal to men whenever they get the chance. Not all of them, mind you, but it happens often enough that men don’t like it. Jewish witches are some of the most mighty you’ll ever find. More than a few argue Morgan le Fey could’ve been Jewish,” the woman said with some uncertainty.

“So was she good or bad?” Harry asked and wanted resolution to the question.

“Both, I suppose, and it depends on how you look at it. Helga Hufflepuff revered Morgan, and she was only a couple of centuries removed from Morgan’s time,” Mrs. Fressell intoned with authority. “There’s no doubt, however, that Morgan le Fey was a great user of a magic. She truly rivaled Merlin, and I think this piece here shows she surpassed him. Her life and deeds beg the question of whether a dark witch or wizard is made or born. Sometimes it seems like a little of both, but you also need to question who’s calling who dark. Lot of scholars think Merlin was much darker than Morgan, and Morgan simply tried to stop him and Artur from carrying out what could’ve been a disastrous plan for all magical kind.”

Never in his life did Harry ever hear a real bad word spoken about Merlin. In some respects it seemed a heresy in the wizarding world, but Mrs. Fressell did set his mind to wondering. He thought about Hermione, arguably the most powerful spellcaster in their year, and how she would react to being suppressed as a witch. It brought up the image of Black Livia in the iron maiden. More than anything, Harry realized Mrs. Fressell challenged him to think about who actually wrote history and what biases might be at work. Merlin and Morgan made for an excellent example.

“Gives me something to think about,” Harry conceded.

“Now you’re in the spirit of things, Harry. Any museum worth its salt should make you think about your assumptions. Find the facts and make up your own mind. Look at why a person becomes what he or she does, and see if the labels slapped on them are accurate. That’s what we do here at the museum every day. We read the labels we write and think if the words reflect the truth.”

Harry glanced at Neville who seemed lost deep in thought. His boyfriend promised him answers in the museum, and he got many. However, Neville never told him it would raise tenfold questions. It offered insight into how and where Neville’s quiet and unimposing intelligence took form and shape. Neville suddenly flicked his eyes at Harry. He saw the contemplative expression on the temporarily swarthy famous wizard. Neville wanted Harry to love the museum with the same fervor, but he realized each person needed to come to their own conclusions. Mrs. Fressell clearly made the point.

“All right, boys, we’ve spent enough time on this side. Time to let you get back into the light,” the curator announced.


	10. Chapter 10

By the time Mrs. Fressell deposited them on the first floor and took her leave, Harry felt his mind crowded with questions. In the past he did not consider what drove the curiosity of people, especially the likes of Hermione and Neville, but he suspected he got a good dose of what caused it. The questions expertly raised by the guide shouted for answers and resolution. Moreover, Harry started to believe both the woman and the museum gave him ample reason to continue his struggle against Lord Holdequart. He saw darkness in basic, plain terms. He also saw he needed to evaluate what he considered to be evil and make certain his own motivations remained pure.

“I could really use some time outside,” Neville said after Mrs. Fressell disappeared into another part of the museum. “Let’s go look at the gardens.”

“Are we ever going to get out of there?” Harry asked and tried to humorous.

“We’ll see.”

Neville grinned at Harry while taking his hand. The boyfriends walked past numerous displays that caught Harry’s eye. He began to realize why Neville made repeated visits: one simply could not learn everything available inside the place. It brought up the issue of libraries, and Harry contemplated Madam Pince. Given how much time she spent reading about magic, he wondered just how powerful of a witch the head librarian might be. Neville already proved the power of knowledge on several occasions. His brain started to get muddled with all the issues Harry knew he should think about. However, when they burst through the doors at the back of the museum, his brain screeched to a halt.

“Holy herbology,” Harry muttered the words as he eyes tried to take in the sight.

“And you thought my garden was impressive, huh?” Neville teased him.

“This is… how?”

Harry spread out his hands and tried to wave them in every direction at once. They found themselves alone in a space likely twenty times larger than what Neville managed at his home. Neat squares roughly six meters per side and four abreast ran for at least forty meters before reaching the back wall. Sheds dotted the surrounding walls. While alive and thriving, the vast garden appeared antiquated because it did not look like a modern farming operation Harry saw on the muggle television or in muggle magazines. Somehow it seemed more alive and natural. He breathed in the complex scents, and his body began to react.

“Did I ever tell you I met Madam Sprout here once before I went to Hogwarts?” Neville asked.

Harry shook his head while squeezing his boyfriend’s hand.

“She doesn’t remember it, but it was over there by the buckthorn. She saved me from getting kicked and bruised.”

“Lucky you,” Harry rejoined through a grin.

“Not really. I got kicked by one the next year. Hurt like the blazes. Those hoof buds are really hard,” Neville told him. “Come on. Let’s go take a look.”

Harry allowed himself to be pulled along as he fought to keep his bodily response in check. The smell of earth, fertilizers, plants, and probably pollen worked their alchemy in his blood. Touching Neville’s hand only compounded the effect. He hoped the now swollen part of his anatomy would not attract too much attention, although the garden looked completely empty of people. As they walked along, Harry glanced at the dizzying assortment of plants and other magical flora. He thought he spotted a garden gnome, but it vanished behind a broad-leafed plant before he got a good look. After twisting through various plots, Neville brought them to a halt.

“See?” He queried and pointed to a plant.

“Yeah, that does look like it would hurt,” Harry responded as he watched the thick-stemmed shoot of a plant, adorned with a brown bulb at the end, violently jerk outward in their direction.

“Left me with a bruise for a month,” Neville mumbled.

Harry pressed his body closer to Neville’s. While he wanted to learn about the garden and what fascinated his boyfriend so much, other thoughts intruded with greater force. The associations he made between growing things and the now fifteen-year old acted like a strong aphrodisiac. Lewd ideas began to percolate in his brain.

“Do they, uh, use modern tools? I can’t see in the shed,” Harry inquired and directed his boyfriend’s attention to the closest one.

“We can take a look. Mrs. Frissell wouldn’t mind,” Neville told him and walked toward it. “I think it’s all stuff they used for farming in the seventeenth century.”

When they reached the shed, Neville pulled open the door after lifting the wooden latch. Inside a small stack of either fertilizer or soil occupied one end. Above that shelves held various tools. On the other side a crude wheelbarrow leaned against the wall. Along the upper reaches of the shed, more shelving ran on all walls. Assorted planters and pots rested in wait for future use. Gardening stakes and spools of twine and wire took up one row. Harry glanced around and made mental calculations. Then without giving any warning, he pushed Neville inside while pulling the door closed.

“Harry…?” Neville started to ask.

Harry silenced him with a tongue. Seconds later Neville’s arms wrapped around him and pulled them tightly together. Hips ground against hips, and Harry joyfully discovered Neville reacted in the same manner. A long, hard lump press into the right crease of Harry’s groin. Their mouths remained locked as tongues performed a twining dance like two snakes swaying to a charmer’s pipe. Harry felt as if he could inhale Neville’s face and still not get enough. Neville’s thoughts followed the same path. The emotions bubbling under his skin ran so strong he could not entirely plot a way to express them to Harry. Hence, his kiss became feral and needy. It seemed to match what his boyfriend experienced. Harry started to hum as he sucked on Neville’s tongue.

The two youths forgot about where they hid themselves. After five minutes of intense kissing, they started to pull at each other's clothing. Within moments they flung their shirts to the side and began working on their pants. It scarcely mattered to Neville what Harry looked like at the moment: he knew Harry loved him. That idea and sentiment drove his actions. He caressed the almost obscenely thin waist of his boyfriend as the pants button came undone and the zipper got lowered. Harry shimmied his hips, and the garment floated down to his knees. Ten seconds later, Neville’s pants and underwear got slid downward. Harry followed them until he rested on his knees. He looked up and grinned.

“You know I probably won’t last long,” Neville told him.

“Long enough, Mister Longbottom,” Harry said and snickered at his own bad pun while Neville lightly batted at his head.

For over twenty minutes intense, strange sounds issued from the shed. The garden gnomes that survived the purge from the week before crept out from behind various plants and stared at the enclosure made of sun-bleached wood and thatch. Sometimes it rocked and wobbled. Guttural noises, grunting and panting, rippled outward. To the gnomes it sounded as if someone trapped dogs or wolves in the shed when unusual barking and growling ensued. Even when the worst of the sounds ceased and they could only hear deep breathing, the shed still did not seem safe. By the time it all ended, several of the gnomes decided to permanently take their leave of the garden regardless of the enticing plants. It seemed the humans invited a new and terrifying creature into their midst and kept it locked in a shed.

“Cripes, but I needed that,” Harry said as the kicked open the door while still tucking in his shirt.

“You and me both,” Neville said over the sound of his zipper being pulled up. “How about some lunch and then we come back to finish going through the museum and garden?”

“I could live with that,” he rejoined, and snagged Neville’s hand as they walked toward the exit. Then he halted. “Will they let us back in?”

“Read your ticket,” his boyfriend instructed.

Harry did not. He trusted Neville knew what to do. The two teenagers exited the garden by a side entrance. Harry felt a new wave of freedom as no one paid them any attention. It riled him to think so many actions got carried out against him as an infant that would so deeply affect the rest of his life. He would always be Harry Potter and people would always add ‘The-Boy-Who-Came’ to the end of his name. As they strolled through the streets of a village apparently trapped in times gone by, he found it slightly disturbing that he understood and could somewhat sympathize with the cause of Black Livia’s outrage. Harry vowed he would never go to such extremes, but it set his mind to thinking.

“What are you angry about?” Neville inquired as he navigated them through Hosey Common.

“What makes you think I’m mad?” Harry countered.

“’Cause you’re squeezing my hand really hard, your breathing got deeper, and your nostrils flared a bit. It’s like you’re tensing up for a fight.”

Harry blinked at his boyfriend. The wispy clouds floated through a blue sky and the sun beat down on them from on high. It would be another oppressively hot day, but neither Harry nor Neville cared about that. Just being allowed to be together and in public without anyone being the wiser became the important factor. At the moment Harry stared in amazement at his boyfriend.

“Why do you always look surprised when I can figure out what’s going on inside of you?” Neville said and acted mildly irritated.

“Because nobody else ever took to the time to do that. Even Ron and Hermione can only guess at the simple stuff,” Harry replied.

Neville leaned his head down and whispered: “They don’t get to sleep with you. They don’t hear you mumble in your sleep about what upsets you… or at least Ron doesn’t pay attention.”

“Yeah, I suppose.”

“I’m pretty sure they love you, but not like I do.”

“That’s true,” Harry said, and it drastically altered his mood.

He squeezed Neville’s hand again, but not from the emotions whipped up by his internal monologue.

“You’ll like the food at Álfr,” Neville said and deftly changed the topic. “It’s not like Kellar’s at all and it’s kind of meant for old ladies, but the food is good. Gran goes there when she’s done at The Four and Ten.”

“Four and Ten?” Harry inquired.

“It’s the pub Mr. Gent manages. Named after an old fine paid for hexing muggles: four sickles and ten knuts.”

“What fine do they pay today today?”

Neville took his turn giving Harry a surprised look, and then said: “Don’t know. Never thought to ask.”

Harry grinned at finding a missing piece of information in Neville’s staggering collection. Neville bumped him with his shoulder. They settled into a comfortable silence as they walked to the tearoom. It gave Harry a chance to really observe the village. While the witches and wizards displayed the standard bizarre range of attire, it seemed normal to him. The strange items for sale in the various shops barely raised an eyebrow on his face. The manner in which the wizarding folk leaned out the windows, often chatting with some astride a flying broom or sitting on a small floating carpet appeared as regular as anything to Harry. Without realizing it, he somehow began to accept he belonged in the wizarding world despite his accidental fame.

When they arrived at the Álfr Tea Room, a frilly-looking place definitely designed and decorated with the sensibilities of older women in mind, they found Mrs. Longbottom sitting at a large circular table conversing with several witches. Two of the ladies even wore the traditional black hat. Neville’s grandmother looked at ease. That seemed strange to Harry. In the past day and a half, he never saw her fully let her guard down. A glance at Neville showed all to be in order as they trooped right up to the woman.

“Done already? I wasn’t expecting you in search of lunch for at least another hour or two,” Mrs. Longbottom said with her customary semi-stern voice.

“No, Gra… eat Aunt Augusta,” Neville replied, catching himself in what he called her and adjusting his voice, while taking the seat next to her. “You won’t believe this, but Har… ricles and me got a private tour from one of the curators. We saw part of their private collection.”

Harry quietly took the seat alongside his boyfriend.

“And what did the Fressells charge you for that? Must have cost you a pretty knut!” One of the witches inquired in a rather snarky tone.

“Nothing. She just thought Haricles might like to know more about English history. He grew up in a Greek family,” Neville smoothly covered.

Harry nodded, but mostly because Neville’s quick thinking impressed him. One of the witches in a very purple set of robes and hat stared at him. He tried to act calm.

“Tell me... Haricles, was it?” Said the woman in purple who looked to be somewhat older than Mrs. Longbottom.

Harry nodded again.

“Interesting name, but tell me if you’d be so kind: who is the patron god of your family?”

Harry racked his brain to come up with reasonable answer and half-blurted: “Apollo. There’s a lot of sun in Greece… and my family likes archery.”

The woman pursed her lips and nodded as if she expected to him to fail her little quiz. Harry expected to fail himself. Fortunately, years of lying in a hallway listening to the Dursley’s television gave him a fairly broad if simple understanding of muggle history in various parts of the world. Although never a true fan of documentaries, Harry would take whatever television he could get at their house until they banished him to his closet.

“You look… familiar,” the witch said as she scrutinized him.

Although he did not like lying to people, he saw the interest of the lady might get him into trouble. Harry tried to remember all he could about the Greeks and what role he might assume. Nothing came immediately to mind, so he took a different route.

“Know a lot of Greeks, do you?” He asked.

The woman blinked at him.

“I get that all the time. A lot of folks say that can’t tell one from another. I think it’s ‘cause of our skin and eyebrows. What do you think?”

Harry heard Neville snort as the woman suddenly found something else to occupy her attention. Mrs. Longbottom did not appear as amused and scowled a bit. However, Harry felt cheered by his tactic. He thought it a long shot, but it seemed a racist intent did lay under the surface.

“Well, boys, where would you like to go for lunch?” Augusta Longbottom assumed her usual manner.

“This place is fine… Great Aunt,” Neville said with more control over the ruse. “There’s still a lot more to see, and the ticket is good for all day. We just want to eat and get back there.”

Harry nodded once more. Mrs. Longbottom fixed him with a particularly fierce stare. He understood the question hid behind the gaze.

“It’s really an interesting place, and I’m learning loads. Ever hear ‘bout Black Livia?” Harry replied in earnest.

The mention of the famed dark witch set off an energetic discussion. It seemed the women gathered around the table knew their history. A lively debate about what curses, hexes, and spells Black Livia used got going. Harry and Neville ordered food from a tiny old man who reminded both of them of Professor Flitwick. Since he knew little of topic except what he learned, Harry only listened. Neville, however, knew more. However, his knowledge paled in comparison to what the ladies gathered around the table knew. As the two teenaged boys ate and kept mostly silent, Harry began to wonder how much the women bandied about might be legend. Some of stories they told seemed a bit far-fetched. Near the end of their meal, the witch in purple turned her attention again to Harry.

“I’m assuming this doesn’t interest you much since you barely spoke a word,” she said in semi-accusatory manner.

“Actually, it interests me a lot,” Harry truthfully said. “I think we need to learn as much about other dark witches and wizards if we’re going to figure out a way to fight Lord Holdequart.”

“Young man!” The witch who asked the question said in shock.

Her reaction got mirrored on the faces of the other ladies.

“Oh, for Athena’s sake, Eugenia. Are you always going to run away afraid of his name? What’s the point in that?” Mrs. Longbottom responded.

Harry felt his mouth flop open. Neville gaped at his grandmother. Neither expected her to take their side.

“Har… icles, what was it you were telling me about fear of the name that one of your grandparents told you?”

It took a few seconds before Harry managed to organize his brain as the shock wave continued to reverberate.

“Um,” he mumbled and glanced around. He sat up straighter and met the disapproving glances. “Fear of a name only increases the fear of the thing itself. We call Holdequart by his name and not those other stupid nicknames… well, except Dork Lord.”

“And what if that one heard you, child?” A portly witch with a wizened face and snow white hair tucked under what appeared to be a squashed top hat.

“If he can hear me, then there’s a good chance he’s close enough to kill me. Won’t matter much, will it? But I don’t think saying his name is going to summon Holdequart to me. He… she might be powerful, but not that powerful.”

His answer appeared to shock anew.

“This is what I was saying earlier, Redella. Children these days just don’t have respect for traditions. Whatever are they being taught in school is what I’d like to know!” A frumpy, lean woman declared.

The topic shifted to accusing the younger generation of all sort of bad manners and lack of respect. Harry almost wished he said nothing in response. Neville, however, wore an odd grin on his face. He followed his line of sight and discovered the reason. An expression Mrs. Longbottom normally reserved for her grandson got thrown at the women sitting around the table. She gazed at the assembled women as she might the talking spittoon at The Leaky Cauldron. Following half a minute of partial eye rolls at the statements being flung about, she turned her attention to her grandson and his boyfriend.

“Alright, gentlemen, I think you’ve caused quite enough havoc here,” she said in a dry fashion. “It might be best if you returned to the museum if that is what you plan to do.”

“We do,” Neville immediately confirmed.

“Thanks for lunch, Mrs. Longbottom,” Harry said and began to stand.

“I take it you will be forced out at closing time?” The last remaining sane matriarch of the Longbottom clan inquired.

“Yeah, six bells is when they lock the doors. We’ll be out a few minutes before that,” her grandson informed her while pushing away from the table.

Mrs. Longbottom eyed them for a second and said: “You are most welcome, Haricles and… Nigel. I will see you then.”

With that Harry knew she dismissed them, and he rather appreciated she did not force them to stay. He raised his hand in farewell, and Neville did the same. The two teenagers then turned and began to walk away from the table. Before they got out of earshot, they heard the witched dressed in vibrant purple again speculate she encountered Harry somewhere in the past. He did not react and continued walking. Once outside the tearoom, he started to shake his head.

“She doesn’t know it’s you,” Neville said and appeared to be reading his mind.

“Then what?” Harry countered.

“It’s just the old ‘you’re not from around here’ situation. She’s trying to make you familiar so she doesn’t have to worry. That’s why she kept looking at you and wanted to know about your family.”

“So it wasn’t racist?”

“Maybe a little, but not really. You forget people are getting jumpy with Holdequart on the loose. Strangers could be dangerous. If it weren’t for Gran, they would’ve stared us out of there,” Neville told him.

“Fear is a weird thing, isn’t it?” Harry pondered aloud.

They walked down the street heading toward the museum in silence. The hour they spent with lunch saw the day to heat up even more. Sweat start to bead in Harry’s armpits, on his back, and along his forehead. It made his newly tailored clothes stick to his body. At least when the garments retained their Dudley proportions they tended to not cling.

“You said something to Gran this morning I’ve been thinking about ever since, and I think you got it right in one go,” Neville murmured without any preamble.

“Which part?” Harry inquired when his boyfriend did not elaborate.

“The part about actually seeing Holdequart. You know what to be afraid of. You’ve already fought him a few times. Other normal things don’t scare you like it does me and everyone else. Look at how you reacted with the dragon. I thought I was going to piss on myself.”

“Neville, you’ve got it all wrong. I am afraid of Holdequart. I am afraid of dragons. The Merscots really got to me. I’m even afraid of Dumbledore most of the time. Cripes, Hermione terrifies me every other day,” he replied and smirked at the end.

“But you don’t let it stop you. That’s what people don’t get. I know why you don’t. I know why you’ve got to fight, but not a lot of others do,” Neville continued despite Harry’s statements. “It sort of makes you as scary as Lord Holdequart. I’ve heard people at school wonder if you’ve got powers like him and if you’re going to go dark.”

“That’s just daft, Neville, and you know it!” Harry angrily rejoined.

“Is it? How about the way you look at Malfoy?”

“Malfoy’s father is a Dungeater. He’s probably going to go the same route. My parents fought Holdequart and died for it. You’re parents fought, too, and suffered even more. Why would anybody think I’d go dark after all that?”

Neville stopped walking and stared at him.

“What?” Harry grumped.

“I think that might be the reason why Mrs. Fressell showed us Black Livia. She just started out trying to protect her family…”

“She wanted revenge. I don’t want that!”

“What about when Holdequart starts going after the people you care about. What if he goes after me? What if he kills me… or Ron or Hermione or Séamus or Parvati… what then, Harry? How many is too many before it gets to you?” Neville asked in his frank and honest manner.

Harry felt a chill run through him. Time and again he wondered about that very topic, and he never came up with an answer. It seemed certain if Neville died at Holdequart’s hands Harry would spin out of control. The same could probably be said for Hermione and Ron. The words of the Sorting Bonnet still rang in his ears. It wanted to put him in Slytherin House. It saw something in him. The Bonnet called it ambition, determination, and drive. It saw his future disregard for certain conventions and rules. The Sorting Bonnet also indirectly compared him to Tom Widdle. After all, Lord Holdequart singled Harry out as a baby as the greatest threat to his plans.

“Am I like him, Neville? Am I like Lord Holdequart?” He quietly asked and his voice shook.

“A little,” his boyfriend answered, but then placed a hand on his shoulder. “But aren’t we all? I mean, aren’t there dark forces in all of us we’ve got to fight every day ‘til it becomes habit? What was the first thing you wanted to do when Holdequart killed Ass Cleft?”

“Cry. It hurt. It really hurt because I liked and admired Cedric. It made me angry ‘cause Holdequart didn’t have any right… any cause or reason to kill either Diggory or that woman. I’m starting to hate him, Neville, because he thinks he’s entitled to do all these things, wreck all these live, when he isn’t! No one is. Not even Dumbledore!”

Neville smiled, and Harry felt warmth shove aside the coldness growing in his chest.

“That’s why you’ll never be like him. That’s why you’ll never go dark, Harry,” Neville said in a confident manner. “I heard Hagrid tell Snape one time that even though you’ve gone through so much, you never lost your basic sense of decency, fairness… humanity. Snape called you a bunch of names, but he didn’t disagree.”

“I hope Hagrid’s right.”

“He is.”

Harry then stepped into an embrace with Neville. He felt the magic flare between them, and he realized how dependent he became on it during the last half of school year. He recognized the absence of that love, that powerful magic in its own right, as the cause of his malaise during the first half of summer. Yet it also made him afraid. Harry could not imagine what he would do if Neville’s love got taken away in an unexpected or violent manner. He feared it would make him insane. Once more he sensed he understood Black Livia too much for his own good.

“Harry, if the Dursley’s couldn’t drive the goodness out of you, what chance does Holdequart have?” His boyfriend asked and held him tight.

Harry began to laugh at the ludicrous juxtaposition. Neville’s body quaked a little in Harry’s grasp as he chortled. It gave him hope if they could extract even a little humor out of such ghastly situation.

“You’ll never go bad, Harry. It just isn’t in you,” Neville said after relaxing the hug and leaning back a bit.

“I need a reminder of that every once in a while. This is why I got you a Wiz-Viz for your birthday,” Harry said as he loosened his arms. “Maybe it was for me so I could see and talk to you.”

“It’s a brilliant idea,” his boyfriend replied. “Now, let’s go see the rest of the museum. There might still be a thing or two you might learn. Maybe not as exciting as Black Livia and Wee Willy Winky, but still kind of interesting.”

The two young men separated, but kept holding hands. Not a soul glanced their way as they walked down the cobbled street toward the museum. The sense of just being a normal teenager infatuated with his boyfriend brought Harry peace of mind. Moreover, simply going to a museum, a wizarding museum, added the right touch. For all appearances it seemed a banal activity, and yet he enjoyed it more than he expected. It made him feel grounded for reasons he could not quite explain to himself.

Mrs. Fressell stood watch at the door and grinned at them as they approached.

“Back for more?” She asked and winked. Then she adjusted her bonnet.

“We only saw part of the first floor and a little of the garden. There’s a lot of stuff in there to see, besides what you showed us… and that was wicked cool!” Harry spoke before Neville.

“Say, did you boys see anything in the garden? A jarvey maybe or perhaps a fox? I heard a few of the gnomes complaining about a new creature or a monster back there.”

Harry looked at Neville. Neville looked at Harry. Together they looked at Mrs. Fressell.

“We weren’t back there long, but we didn’t see or hear anything out the ordinary,” Neville told her.

“Well, keep your eyes sharp all the same. Whatever it is they think they saw, it was enough to scare away a third of the gnomes… not that I mind that one bit,” the woman said. “All right, inside with you two. It’s as hot as Rovente’s Cauldron out here.”

She shooed them away toward entrance. They thanked her and stepped inside. The difference in temperature seemed staggering. Neville turned to Harry.

“Should we just pick up where we left off or did you see anything in particular you want to go examine?” He asked.

“Well, I don’t know. I don’t think we’ll get to see it all today, even if we didn’t go see the dark magic displays,” Harry replied as he thought. “Maybe we should just take it in order like we were doing.”

Neville nodded his head and said: “That’s usually the best idea.”

Neville again became the de facto tour guide. They began in the building mock-up next to the house where Mrs. Fressell found them. Any last lingering questions as to why Neville loved the museum got laid to rest. Although not called an apothecary or a chemist, the shop they entered clearly served that purpose. Numerous plants hung from the ceiling. Mannequins of a witch and wizard showed them busily working with herbs. The gleam in Neville’s eyes spoke volumes. He stood and mentally recited the names, both common and scientific, of as many of the plants as he could. The shy teenager decided he would memorize the entire plant kingdom years ago, although recently he realized it to be an impossible task. However, it did not stop him from making the attempt. After walking around a bit, Harry came and stood next to him.

“Alright, what am I missing?” He asked in a resigned manner.

“Did you notice most of these are real flora samples?” Neville replied. “See that one there and that one… that one over there?”

The lanky teenager in disguise pointed at two specific plants. Harry followed the arm and finger, saw then, and nodded.

“No one’s seen a living specimen in at least a hundred years. I keep telling Mr. Fressell he needs to harvest the seeds and send them to the Ministry for storage and maybe cultivation.”

“What do they do?”

“Not quite sure, but we’ve got a book at Snogwarts by Astragal Pleurothall that contains common household plants in use around eighteen-ten, and he… she – I really can’t tell – says one of the plants, that yellowish-orange one, got used to treat dolmen pixie bites. Ever been bit by a pixie?”

“Only a doxie and a gnome,” Harry told him.

“I never did either, but Madam Sprout say it stings really bad and gets worse and worse. There’s something in their spit that transmits an infection, and whatever body part got bit will turn dark gray and hard like burnt wood and fall off. It’ll kill you after a three or four weeks if you don’t get it treated.”

Harry goggled at Neville.

“They used to use that plant to stop the infection. We use other stuff now, but no one knows why that plant worked. The Pluerothall books says it got boiled in oil to make an ointment. It needs to be studied before it’s forgotten,” Neville stated and a dark expression crossed his face. “We’re losing a lot of the old knowledge about plants ‘cause we keep trying to imitate the muggles. Everybody wants new and thinks the old stuff is shite.”

“Ever think of becoming a healer, Neville? Sounds like you’d be a cracking good one,” Harry suggested.

“What good it is being a healer if you can’t get the medicines that actually work?”

The more famous of the two did not have an answer.

“Remember in our third year when we were working with puffapods?” Neville inquired.

Harry nodded and said: “The ones one Ron dropped, and Madam Sprout got really mad him.”

“Yeah, those. Guess what? Nobody knows why trolls are allergic to them. Nobody ever made a serious study of the plant,” the taller young wizard said in dismay. “Madam Sprout said it just gets in their big noses and irritates them. What type of answer is that? It doesn’t tell us anything.”

The heat Harry heard in Neville’s voice reminded him that few understood the deep passions contained within his boyfriend. Those rarely came to the surface, but Harry understood them as almost always in effect. It taught him that charismatic and outgoing people like the late Cedric Diggory played important roles and often got far too much credit for their contribution. Conversely, people like Neville who quietly worked to advance and preserve knowledge rarely got noticed. It reminded him of Newt Scamander who, in his younger days, got vilified for his interest in magical creatures – even expelled from Snogwarts – until he proved the value of that knowledge in helping stop Gellert Grindelwald. Harry placed Neville in that category.

“You already know what you’re going to do with the rest of your life, don’t you?” Harry asked and hope he sounded supportive.

“I think I do… I mean, I know what I want to do, but Madam Sprout says there isn’t much of a call for it. That’s why I started my own garden when Gran would let me,” Neville replied with a touch of dismay in his words.

Harry looked at him. He let his gaze remain unblinking and firm until Neville started to appear uncomfortable. Then Harry grabbed his hands.

“Sometimes you just got to say to hell with what other people think,” he said in a firm tone. “How do you think I wind up in half the situations I do?”

“Yeah, but you’re usually trying to save people, Harry.”

“And you’re not?” Harry blurted. “What would it mean if you figured out how that plant over there works? How many people would that save? What about your festerwart idea? How many animals are going to be spared from the careless spells of witches and wizards? You know there’s not going to be a lot for me to do once we defeat Holdequart, but you… Neville, you’ll be busy for the rest of your life.”

“Why are you so confident about that?” Neville whispered.

“I have to be,” he answered and shrugged a little. “Look, what does it mean if I’m wrong… about Holdequart that is?”

Neville’s face turned a bit pale.

“But about you? I’ve already seen it. While the rest of us were playing exploding snap or hide the peg, you’re down in the greenhouses taking care of things and learning some right useful stuff,” he explained. “While I lay around the house trying to read The Daily Profit or catch something on the telly, you’ve got the great garden going. You’re doing something productive. I know you think it makes you dull and boring…”

Neville raised an eyebrow as if to agree.

“Listen, mate, that dull and boring kept me from drowning in the loch so I could rescue you,” Harry countered. “And what is it you’re always saying about the damned tournament?”

“We probably wouldn’t be together without it,” Neville droned.

“I made it through the tournament using dull and boring, and you’re the one who pointed me right to it. So don’t go looking down on yourself. You’re gonna be way ahead of the rest of us when we leave Snogwarts.”

Neville smiled at him and stated: “You make me feel important.”

“You are important, Neville, and you don’t need me to tell you or prove it!”

Light shimmered around where their hands touched.

“You ever see a James Bond movie?” Harry inquired.

“No, but I know about him,” his boyfriend responded.

“Good ‘cause Bond never goes it alone. Sure, he’s the one out there doing the fighting, but he depends on a lot of people to make gadgets for him that keep him alive or provide him crucial information. He’d be dead on the first go without those other people in the MI6. It’s not just him alone. It can’t be. It’d never work.”

“So you’re saying that’s what we are?”

“Exactly!” Harry half-crowed. “You sent me to library to read up on dragons. You gave me the fishface lace when I forgot all about how I was going to survive under the water. And what I did in the first challenge with Lord Pusztító is what saved me in the third challenge from him, I think it’s a him, and kept the other champions alive. You didn’t just save me, Neville, and that was huge.”

A strange but happy smile crawled across Neville’s mouth.

“So when other people are making fun of you for knowing all that stuff or spending so much time in the greenhouses, don’t forget who saved the tournament champions more than once… and yourself and Roger Davies and Ron and that other girl in the Merscot trap.”

“Never thought about it like that,” the taller of the two boyfriends said.

“I never forget about it,” Harry rejoined. “You didn’t get the credit you deserve…”

“I got you, Harry, so I’ll call it even.”

Harry grinned.

“You really think us being here right now is important?” Neville asked and several other questions lurked beneath the surface.

“Yeah, I do. Figuring out Dumbledore just sort of collects information and things as he goes along, stuff he can use later, taught me something: all of this is important. I may not know how or why right now, but who knows when it might come in handy in the next few years,” and he smiled as he delivered his final thought. “Who knew dull and boring could be this bloody important?”

“I think I did.”

“So carry on!”


	11. Chapter 11

Fifteen minutes before the museum closed, a loud voice rang out on all the floors announcing it. Harry and Neville made it through a third of the second floor and not as thoroughly as Neville would like. Thus, when the voice told them they needed to head to the exit, they followed the order. Memories of what they felt and saw on the third floor remained. They also saw a number of ghosts emerge as closing time neared. Only one interacted with them who warned them about getting locked in the building overnight. It only added more haste to their steps.

The boys animatedly discussed the last exhibit they studied when a voice said: “It seems you enjoyed your time in the museum?”

“It was great, Mrs. Longbottom, and we didn’t even make it to the gardens on the second go!” Harry told her as they approached, but then returned his attention to Neville. “I want that anvil!”

“Ah, the Forge of Kregz,” the older woman droned. “And what would you do when a goblin army came to reclaim it?”

“But they say the Sword of Gryffindor got folded on it!” The wizard celebrating his birthday excitedly yammered.

“Did you, by any chance, read the bit about it being on loan from the goblins?”

“Um, I might have missed that.”

“And what volcano will you use as a furnace and to heat the anvil?” Mrs. Longbottom methodically pursued the topic.

“Well, okay, there is that, too,” Harry conceded and feigned disappointment.

Mrs. Longbottom smirked.

“Party pooper,” her grandson mumbled.

“Party pragmatist, Neville, and nothing more,” she replied, but did not sound angry at his pert comment.

“Gran,” Neville said and chuckled.

“Speaking of pragmatism, you seemed rather taken with Kellar’s, Harry, so I sent word ahead and made reservations. If that meets with your approval,” Mrs. Longbottom told him.

Harry felt his eyes grow wide, a new sense of excitement built in him, and said: “Brilliant. Yes. Thank you!”

“After which I think there will be enough time for cake and a small party back at the house before we must return you home.”

“Snogwarts?” Harry immediately questioned.

“Ah, no: the Dursley’s,” she replied, but found his reply rather telling.

“Oh, yeah, there.”

“As disappointed as you sound, you must remember it is your legal residence and the Dursley’s are your legal guardians. Besides, the charms on our house expire exactly at five minutes past nine bells. We gave our word we would return you home before then.”

“I know. I understand,” Harry said and did feel disappointed.

Despite how the day started, it improved by leaps and bounds as it wore on. He felt Mrs. Longbottom no longer regarded him, personally, as a threat to her grandson. It did not remove the surrounding threats, but the woman appeared more at ease with him. Moreover, Harry’s gratitude for what she did and planned for him could not be dismissed. Neville and his grandmother gave Harry the most unexpected and wonderful present he could hope to receive for his birthday: nearly two full days of freedom from Little Whinging.

“I checked the maps, and the western edge of Mobius Street is just within my apparation range,” she told her grandson and his boyfriend as she lifted her arm. “I’ll warn you: you may feel a bit more turned on yourself than usual.”

“Ah, okay,” Harry said as he got a grip on her thin forearm.

“Thanks for the warning, Gran,” Neville said as he, too, took hold.

The sensation they got tied into various knots while getting stuffed into and stretched through a rubber tube took over as the apparation moved them through the distance. Harry tried to keep his bearing, but mostly focused on keeping his stomach from hurling its contents. When they arrived at the designated apparation site, he landed on his hands and knees. Neville arrived standing, and then promptly staggered and fell back on his rump. Even Mrs. Longbottom seemed woozy from the experience, but remained upright on her feet. Harry heard a few laughs as he fought his heaving gut and attempted to stop his head from spinning.

“I, ah… think a short walk might do us some good,” Mrs. Longbottom said with a quavering voice. “That truly was on the edge of my ability.”

“But we got here,” Neville replied. “Whole.”

The woman opened her purse, sorted through it for a few seconds, and pulled out a small rectangular package. Harry got his eyes to focus on her hand. Next to them another group of people popped in, and they appeared in far better shape. He envied them.

“Here, take some gum. Chewing it will help equalize your sense of balance,” she said and passed him a piece.

Harry took it. By that point Neville regained his feet and helped Harry to his. They wobbled as they walked to Mrs. Longbottom. Harry unwrapped the piece of gum and crammed it in his mouth. The taste of sweetened arrowroot filled his mouth. It immediately began to settle his stomach. The walk to Kellar’s Cellar proved a good idea. By the time they made it to the planar twist and descended to the restaurant, Harry felt much better. The notion of eating at the amazing restaurant for a second time whetted more than one appetite. He held onto Neville’s hand, squeezed it tighter, and walked at a faster pace. Mrs. Longbottom requested he slow down several times.

The trio got seated right away when they arrived at Kellar's because Mrs. Longbottom made reservations. It drew some heated looks from other customers, but they ignored the glances while being lead to their table. This time a woman who appeared to be in her late twenties served as waitstaff. She levitated their drinks to them upon ordering and promised to return shortly to take their order. Harry sat and thought about what he wanted. The notion the cooks in the restaurant could make whatever he wanted, regardless of how disgusting or inedible, toyed with his sense of the ridiculous. However, a real want for a taste stole over him. His brain lined up the ingredients.

“I’d like proper Cornish pasty, please,” he began when the waitress asked for his order. “Beef with potatoes, onion, carrots, parsnips, and some American celery on the inside with brown gravy all wrapped up in that flaky, crispy good crust. Plus, I’d like some Irish brown bread to soak up the gravy, and put mashed peas on the side. Can I get that?”

“You may indeed, and a very good choice, sir,” the waitress said with a wink.

“Excellent, and thanks!”

Neville and Mrs. Longbottom stared at him as if he grew an extra eye while ordering.

“I must say you’ve mastered the art of ordering food at this establishment. How ever did you happen upon a pasty?” His hostess queried.

“Had ‘em once on a trip to Cornwall with the Dursley’s while Uncle Vernon and his Lester took care of some business. I got a small one while Dudley had a really big one. It was so good, and I really wanted another, but… well, the Dursleys, you know,” he explained with a shrug. “And the ones in Surrey are sh… cr… um, not as good.”

“Apparently so,” Mrs. Longbottom said while her mouth twitched at the corners.

It did not take long for their food to arrive, and Harry tucked into his meal with gusto. It took Neville two attempts to get him to share a bite, and the look on his face spoke of his envy as he chewed on it. Harry did not even bother to ask for a sample of Neville’s crab cakes made from giant crabs and the side order crosscut fried chips. Mrs. Longbottom opted for a fish soup with soda crackers and a small salad. They chatted amiably about The Hekate Museum, although neither teenager ventured any information regarding the private tour of the dark magic displays on the third floor. Mrs. Longbottom’s fluid understanding of the museum contents spoke for the number of times she accompanied her grandson to the place. Shortly before they finished eating, Neville’s grandmother lowered the volume of her voice and leaned closer to Harry.

“Harry, I did not tell the staff today is your birthday,” she began in a serious tone. She held his eyes with a firm gaze. “I did not think it wise to bring attention to this being your day since most everyone knows on what day you were born. I feared it might compromise your current, ah, attire.”

Harry frowned for a second, but then his demeanor changed. Although he thought Neville would enjoy watching him go through the same embarrassment, the need for caution made sense. He slowly started to nod his head.

“I understand, Mrs. Longbottom, and it probably is the safer course,” he said without sounding disappointed.

Augusta Longbottom patted Harry’s arm while replying: “I also thought you seemed so pleased no one recognized you. I suspect you have a difficult time going about your business without people staring at you, especially after your picture appeared in the papers so many times during the, um, contest.”

“Oh, yeah! Thanks! I didn’t even think about that. I was thinking more about, ah, you-know-who figuring out where I am,” he rejoined and felt grateful for her foresight.

“Yes, well, good to hear you’re keeping your focus on the important matters.”

“Lucky you,” Neville said as a wry grin spread on his mouth. “That was so embarrassing.”

“Wish Collin was here to get a picture of it,” Harry playfully retorted.

“And exactly how would you explain the Italian boy in the photo, hmm? Or the Dutch boy?” Mrs. Longbottom said, but it did not sound dismissive.

Harry and Neville glanced at each other and started snickering. Because they quickly adapted to their altered appearances, it never occurred to either they would not look themselves in a picture. It seemed rather comical to them.

“Such is the mind of a teenager,” the woman sighed and smiled. “From the perilous to the ridiculous in no time flat. Now, Harry, if you would be so kind as to tell the waitress your favorite kind of cake so we can get one before we depart to celebrate at the house.”

“Honest? Thanks!” Harry burbled.

It struck Augusta Longbottom that for all the horrors Harry saw in his short life, part of him remained a boy. His obvious excitement at ordering something as simple as a cake appeared so child-like, yet it also screamed of a boy who suffered deprivation at the hands of those who should provide for him. She kept her smile in place while she considered the duality of his response.

“What’s that frosting called that’s usually white, sometimes kind of yellow, and kind of thick and not too sweet?” Harry asked.

“Butter cream?” Mrs. Longbottom ventured a guess.

“Not, not butter cream,” he mumbled and thought about it for a moment. “Cream? Not butter… cream cheese. Cream cheese frosting!”

“Ah, yes. That isn’t very common in our circles. I wonder if the chefs here know how to make it,” she rejoined.

“Gran, did you see the man who ordered squirrel tails with acorn gravy? I think they can figure it out,” Neville remarked.

“Horrible,” Mrs. Longbottom said and shuddered, “but you make a good point, Neville. Harry, go ahead and order your cake. I’m certain they can figure it out to your liking.”

The woman then signaled to their waitress. When she arrived, Mrs. Longbottom said Harry, whom she called Haricles, earned a reward for taking a summer course and decided he wanted a cake to take home. Harry then took over and explained what he wanted: a pistachio cake with cream cheese frosting. He asked if the waitress understood what he meant, and then tried to describe the frosting. The waitress assured him he would get just what he wanted. When the waitress departed to get the desert, he watched her leave. Then he turned a puzzled expression to his hostess and her grandson.

“How do they know exactly what I want?” He inquired in a thoughtful manner. “Is there mind reading spell at work here?”

“Ah, very perceptive of you, Harry,” Mrs. Longbottom responded and smiled. “It is a very finely tuned charm that does, indeed, decipher precisely what a person wants as they speak it out loud. Perhaps you noticed your meal probably tasted exactly like you remembered it?”

“Yeah, it did,” he mumbled. “Better, really.”

“That is the talent of the cooks who make small adjustments to heighten the flavors. It’s why I cautioned you to be careful and precise in what you ordered. Kellar’s will provide the culinary experience you desire, even if that desire is to have one over on the chef.”

“Harry, one of their slogans is they cater to every taste, and they mean it,” Neville reported.

Having discovered the secret to Kellar’s Cellar, although Harry did not think it much of a secret but appreciated the complexity of it, they discussed the nature of the spell. The waitress returned several minutes later with a white box tied with gray ribbon. Since none of the diners left enough on their plates to cart home, only the cake arrived. The waitress then presented Harry with a small spoon that cradled what appeared to be a sample of the frosting.

“Would you like to taste what they made for you?” She asked and smiled.

Harry nodded and accepted the spoon. He carefully tasted a small portion of it, and then crammed the spoon in his mouth and sucked the frosting off of it. His body sagged in near ecstasy, and Neville chortled at his display. As with his meal, it tasted better than he remembered. The waitress grinned and presented Mrs. Longbottom with the tab. Harry saw some of the prices and winced. However, he remembered the admonishment to forget about offering any repayment. Gratitude and guilt warred within him.

“Mrs. Longbottom?” Harry quietly spoke.

She looked up at him.

“Thank you… for all of this. It’s more than I could’ve ever expected.”

She again patted his arm as she said: “Harry, far and above any apology I owe you from this morning, you do deserve to have at least one special… day just for you. It has truly been my pleasure to provide this for you and Neville.”

He smiled because Harry found himself unable to speak as emotion welled inside of him. Mrs. Longbottom smiled in return, and it appeared absolutely sincere. From the corner of his eye, he saw Neville leaning in.

“Happy birthday, Harry,” his boyfriend very softly whispered.

Harry leaned over and gave the lean, long face a kiss on the lips. Neville returned it with serious heart. Both felt their bodies heat up, and they broke apart. They blushed at one another.

“Doesn’t that answer a hundred and one questions,” Mrs. Longbottom slyly stated.

“You already knew, Gran,” Neville said and turned a deeper shade of red.

“I supposed I did, but perhaps we should take our leave before all your blood gets forced into your face.”

Harry snickered at the comment. Neville rolled his eyes. Mrs. Longbottom returned the settled bill to the waitress.

Since Kellar’s Cellar lay outside of Mrs. Longbottom’s apparating range and none of them wanted a repeat of the trip on now full stomachs, the opted for a magic bus ride. Although it still might threaten to bring up their meal, it seemed the safer alternative. The bus line operated by mages completely disregarded any and all muggle traffic laws since it passed completely unnoticed. Hence, the bus could weave between automobiles at a reckless speed. It used various charms and spells to avoid head-on collisions. Harry wondered why the bus line did not get cited by the Ministry as a misuse of a muggle artifact. He and the Longbottoms tightly clutched support poles. The cake sat trapped between Harry’s legs as the bus leaned and slid at crazy angles.

Just after they passed Davington but before reaching Teynham on the A2, the bus swerved off the road and into a wooded field. The driver and ticket-taker loudly swore when the vehicle came to a shuddering halt. The only other passengers, four in total, glanced nervously around.

“All right, all right, keep calm,” said the ticket-taker, a portly man who looked to be deep into his forties. “Just a little… diversion, I’d say.”

“And why are we being diverted?” Mrs. Longbottom tersely demanded.

“Still quite haven’t figured that one out,” the man mumbled, turned, and walked back toward the driver.

“Bloody hell! Who is that?” The driver blurted as he lifted his glasses and peered out the front window.

“There are people all arou… good heavens!” One of the women passengers exclaimed.

Someone started banging on the bus door.

“Dungeaters,” someone muttered.

Harry slid the cake onto the seat, jumped to his feet, and pulled out his wand facing toward the front. Fear raced through him, but he forcibly shoved it to the side. He knew giving into fright at the wrong moment would seal his demise. Neville also sprang up and took a defensive posture, wand pointing at the back of the bus. Mrs. Longbottom gasped.

“Boys, don’t do anything foolish!” She commanded them.

“Foolish would be doing nothing,” Harry growled and put on a courageous face.

He lifted his head and looked out the window. Harry saw the bodies dressed in dingy brown robes and the absurd masks of a smiling face snacking on feces. The pounding on the door stopped. Then it groaned in agony as the metal twisted and the glass shattered. Seconds later two Dungeaters walked onto the bus after petrifying the driver. The other passengers let out gasps and muffled screams. The back door of the bus suddenly got pulled from its casing and hinges. More Dungeaters stood at the rear with raised wands. Harry counted at least eight Dungeaters in or around the bus. He did not rule out the idea more could be gathered where he could not see them.

“Sorry for the unexpected stop,” the lead Dungeater said in a sarcastic manner, “but we need to talk to one of the passengers.”

No one said a word. The Dungeater walked further into the passenger section and halted in front of Mrs. Longbottom. Steely blue eyes could be seen behind the mask as the person, likely a man, glanced down. A low chuckled escaped from him.

“My, my, if it isn’t Augusta Longbottom. Tell me: how is your dear little Frankie? Still mad as a fall bride?” The voice of the man cruelly intoned the question.

“Shut your mouth,” Neville snarled.

“Well, well, who do have here being so brave?” The Dungeater said and stared at both Harry and Neville. “Let me guess. Hmm? You must be Frankie and Alice’s boy for all you look like some addled Swede. Why don’t you drop the charm, Nevie?”

Neville wisely did not.

“And if that’s little Nevie, then this has to be little Harry Potter, the boy who loves shy, squabby Longbottom.”

A couple of people sharply inhaled at the sound of his name. Harry tensed as a second wave of panic threatened to undo him. Instead of giving in, he tightened his grip on the wand in his hand.

“You look like some disgusting Middle Easterner. Nice disguise, son of a mudblood,” the man spat at him.

More gasps echoed around them as the offensive term rang in their ears.

“Now, you all can get out of this alive. We’re just going to take Potter and be gone, then you can get on with what’s left of your sad lives.”

“Over my dead body,” Neville growled.

“Neville!” His grandmother barked in terror.

“Oh, we so hoped you’d say that, Nevie. We even had bets on it. Looks like I get a free ale tonight when we’re done,” the man laughed.

“Do anything to him, and I will get even with you,” Harry said in such a plain fashion it caused the Dungeater to whip his head around to stare at him. “Besides, he’s harder to kill than me… and I think you know what happened the last time I faced Widdle.”

“That’s Lord Holdequart to you, you dirty minge! You will learn manners before you die!” The man screamed at him.

Harry grinned. Terror coursed through his veins, but fear of what might happen to Neville or his grandmother, or any of the people on the bus, forced his hand. He lifted his wand. The eyes behind the mask flicked back and forth from his face to the wand.

“There are more of us than you… and it doesn’t look like you have too many allies, Potter. Now, we can kill the hag and her brat grandson or you can come with us. You get to decide who lives or dies, but either way you’re going to finish your duel with The Dork Lord this night,” the Dungeater pronounced in a cool manner.

The bus rocked as Dungeaters climbed in through the back entrance. The sound of scared whimpering reached Harry’s ears. He hated the fact people lives got put into jeopardy because of him. The bus, a clearly converted muggle double-decker, did not offer any space to fight. Passengers, the staff, and seats effectively hemmed him in. With the rear entrance occupied by Dungeaters and closing in on both he and Neville, few options remained.

“You’ll hurt no one,” he demanded.

“Maybe not. It’s not like you’ve got much say in the matter,” the man replied.

“So you’re word means nothing, just like Widdle’s, huh?”

“You are not worthy to even speak the master’s old name! Do it one more time and I’ll kill the old lady,” the lead Dungeater spat at him.

Harry glanced around. No one needed to tell him the group out-wanded him. The odds of any success in a fight seemed so low it did not matter what he calculated. His mind fixed on saving as many of the others as he could.

“Give me your sworn word you’ll leave everyone alone if I go with you…”

“Harry, no!” Neville shouted at him.

“Promise me that much,” he said to the Dungeater and ignored Neville’s plea. “Otherwise you don’t know how many of you will die before I do… and how pleased is your master going to be when you don’t bring me alive to him?”

He saw his words land on the target. The man’s eyes shifted around. Harry knew it would be a brutal and short battle, but some of the Dungeaters would die. Moreover, the other passengers might join in once the fighting started. He knew Neville would begin slinging spells as fast as he could, but they would both get killed in the end. Harry guessed anyone involved in the botched kidnapping would likely perish at the hands of Holdequart for denying the man-woman what he considered his just right. Harry could not guess if his gambit would work.

“Fine, but we’re taking the brat and the bitch to make sure you comply,” the Dungeater said after ten long seconds. “Now, wands down!”

Harry could feel everyone looking at him. His only hope rested in the notion the Dungeaters would actually live up to their word. Thus, he lowered his arm.

“Harry!” Mrs. Longbottom hissed his name.

“Neville, lower your wand,” Harry said in a remarkably steady voice. “They’ll kill you if you don’t.”

While Neville struggled to do as asked, the head Dungeater pressed his wand against Mrs. Longbottom’s head. That ended Neville’s internal fight. He lowered his wand.

“Now get off of this bus,” the lead Dungeater ordered them.

It took tremendous will to make his feet work, but Harry began to walk forward. He also stuffed his wand into his pocket. The Dungeater moved to the side to allow him to pass while keeping his wand tip jammed firmly against Mrs. Longbottom’s temple. Even a simple spell could kill her at such close proximity. Harry walked past the woman and saw the horror etched on her face. Everything she feared came true in an instant. Moreover, Harry could not guarantee in any fashion that either Neville or Mrs. Longbottom would emerge alive. It stood to reason none of them would live to see the next hour. However, it seemed a better hope then engaging in a fight certain to kill everyone not wearing a mask. Harry forced one foot before the other.

He exited the bus and found only six Dungeaters to be in attendance aside from the three on the bus. Behind him Neville disembarked with two Dungeaters following closely on his heels. Lastly, Mrs. Longbottom and the lead villain joined the group. The trio got pushed together in the midst of the Dungeaters who aimed their wands at them. It eerily reminded Harry of the cemetery where The Dork Lord reclaimed his body.

“What happened to the brave Harry Potter? Huh? You gave up so easily, and for what? The life of an old woman, this squab, and those dregs on the bus. You sell your life too cheaply, Potter,” the Dungeater said and snickered half the while.

“I don’t consider the lives of others cheap. How did you know it was me?” Harry asked, and it stemmed from real curiosity.

“Word got out Harry Potter visited that screwball’s zoo and a dragon identified him. Did you forget dragons can see through charms? That’s a pretty impressive one you’ve got on you, but it’s a shame the hag didn’t wear one,” the man said and leered at Mrs. Longbottom. “Oh, we all know who you are, Gussie love. You should’ve hid your wrinkled face.”

Harry watched as Mrs. Longbottom’s features sagged in total defeat and horror. Harry also never once considered people would be able to identify him by his association with Mrs. Longbottom through Neville. It made clear and clever sense. He could not imagine what a crushing blow it delivered to Mrs. Longbottom to hear she became an agent for the terrible event taking place.

The man laughed and continued: “We found out you three we’re in Hosey Common, and we waited for you to move. Smart thinking apparating to Mobius Street from there, but we guessed it would be too far for you to apparate with two other people back to Hughenden Valley. Yeah, we’re watching your house as well. Nice protective spells you’ve got on the place. Our master will be pleased with what we done once he hears about it.”

“Wait! You’re not doing this on his orders?” Harry blurted out the question before he could think better of it.

“It’s a surprise for our master. Lord Holdequart was so disappointed when he didn’t get to kill you properly last time.”

Harry turned the information over and over in his mind trying to find some way to use it to his advantage. He recalled reading in one of the borrowed books from Snogwarts that Lord Holdequart did not advocate independent thinking among his adherents. However, Harry could well believe The Dork Lord would forgive them if they showed up with him in tow. His train of thought got disrupted when the bus engine turned over and coughed back to life. Several of the Dungeaters started to move.

“Let them go,” the lead Dungeater ordered them. “They’ll spread a nice story about how we feel free to stop buses now. That should put a bit more fear into the people.”

The other Dungeaters laughed, albeit in a sycophantic fashion. The chortles and chuckles sounded forced. While the bus roared to life and unsteadily exited the field, Harry recalled that in the spring at the cemetery that the Dungeaters did not interact with one another. Harry did not think for a single moment they called one another friend. They existed in a hierarchy, and at the top sat an utter lunatic. Smart, vicious, and violent, but a crazy person nonetheless. It seemed logical the Dungeaters operated in fear more than out of loyalty. It did not escape his notice none of the other Dungeaters said a word, but intensely watched their group leader.

“Now, what have we left?” The man inquired and walked back and forth before them. “Two boys and one old lady. Not much of a haul… except one of them is Harry Potter. Now, how do these charms work?”

The Dungeater began to poke and prod at Harry with his wand. He mumbled, and Harry could feel magic coursing over him. It did not remove the disguising charm. Minutes flew by while the man continued searching for the correct reversal spell. Nothing succeeded.

“This is excellent magic,” the Dungeater grumbled. “Tell me how it works.”

“Not a very good wizard, are you,” Harry reported.

“Have you ever watched a person stretched to the point where his… or her spine separates? The screams are very impressive.”

The way in which the man looked at Mrs. Longbottom told Harry how much he would like to give a demonstration. Her face drained of color. Trapped and with few options, Harry lifted a hand toward his neck. The Dungeater quickly aimed his wand at him.

“What are you doing?” The man demanded.

“Dispelling the charm,” Harry told him. Then he held his off-hand to the pendent. “I am feeling more myself now.”

The odd sensation of being pinched and pulled assailed him as the charm receded. The Dungeater watched with interest. The man started to smile. Once the spell ended, he ripped the pendent from Harry’s neck, snapping the chain, and gazed as the small golden tree.

“Nice. How do get it to turn on?” He bluntly asked.

“Touch it with your other hand and say the opposite,” Harry hedged around reciting the correct method.

“This could be useful. Our tracking spells couldn’t find you, and I think this little number is the reason why,” the man said with a hint of appreciation, and then faced Neville. “You. Dispel your charm and take it off. Now!”

Neville glanced at Harry before carrying out the order. Once disenchanted, the Dungeater tore the silver snatch from Neville’s neck. He held both in his hand and smirked before curling his fingers around them. For a second time he began walking back and forth before the captives.

“While I’m still deciding what to do with all of you, I’ve got a question that’s been burning in me since the graveyard,” the lead Dungeater said in a low voice. “How the hell did you escape from there?”

“What?” Harry grumbled as the question caught him off guard.

The Dungeater stepped right up to Harry and glowered at him with a dangerous gleam in his blue eyes and said: “What spell did you use to get out of the cemetery?”

“I don’t know. The trophy was enchanted. It took us right to the cemetery when we touched it, and it took us out again when we touched it a second time,” Harry again and purposefully failed to disclose the whole truth.

“Us? How many of you were there? We counted three.”

“That’s all ‘cept you killed Cedric. I couldn’t leave his body there with Widdle.”

The Dungeater slapped Harry so hard it made him stagger a few steps.

“Watch your tongue, boy, and you will refer to our master as Lord Holdequart. Do you understand? Next time I’ll break your jaw,” the man spat at him.

Harry corralled his reeling senses, glared at the Dungeater and said: “How happy will he be if you bring me in damaged? Hmm? He won’t get to have his fun if I can’t talk.”

“But you don’t need the fingers on your left hand very much. I’ll snap a finger each time you disrespect our master. Am I clear?”

Harry simply bobbed his head once. The group of Dungeaters behind the man watched Harry with obvious interest. The masks hid whatever they might be thinking.

“Good,” the Dungeater grumbled. “Did you know the trophy was charmed?”

“Dumbledore told us it would get us out of the maze. That’s why we all grabbed it at the same time,” he more or less told the truth.

“How did the girl know what you saw in the graveyard? She wasn’t with you, or she has more physical strength than most men if she moved that kid’s corpse.”

Harry eyed him, and then he silently cursed The Daily Profit for printing too many details following the tragedy at the Bi-Wizard Tournament. He could not entirely disguise what actually happened. He sighed.

“Like I told you, when we touched the trophy a second time it brought us back to the maze. We found Foul and then burned our way through the hedges,” he said and reordered pieces of what occurred.

“But they said you just appeared at the grandstands,” the dishearteningly well-informed Dungeater stated.

“We came out on the wrong side, and Kum apparated us back to the starting point. He’s of age.”

“You liar, Potter. You can’t apparate inside…”

“Not from outside the walls to the inside you can’t,” Harry interrupted and made up a detail in his head. “Inside the grounds you can apparate as long as you don’t try to move through the protective spells around Snogwarts. Apparently you didn’t go there or you’d know.”

His smart reply earned him another hard slap. It staggered him a second time. The man might not break his jaw, but he really knew how to make the skin sting. Harry tried to curb his instinct to insult his enemies. He also knew he wanted to keep the man talking. It would buy time for the bus to get someplace and for the passengers or staff to alert the Ministry.

“Hmm, the trophy, huh?” The head Dungeater mumbled seemingly to himself.

“Sounds like he managed to turn it into a portkey,” one of the other Dungeaters intoned.

“I was just thinking the same thing. Wonder how he got so close to it.”

The other Dungeater did not reply.

“Who is he?” Harry queried.

“That’s none of your concern,” the man said and jerked his head up. “You don’t get to ask questions. You only get to answer them before you die, boy.”

Harry heard Mrs. Longbottom take a quivering breath. Much to his relief, neither Neville nor his grandmother got involved in the questioning. He wanted the Dungeaters’ attention focused squarely on him, otherwise they might get deadly ideas.

“We’re done here, and I’m satisfied,” the man said in grave voice. “It’s time for you go meet with our master again and for the last time, Potter. He’s going to have other questions for you, and I’d be cautious with your attitude. You already annoy him.”

“What is he going to do? Kill me if I don’t answer him? Isn’t he going to do that anyway?” Harry snarled because he could not stomach the mindless irony of the man’s statements.

Once more the lead Dungeater pressed his face into Harry’s. His hot breath spilled across Harry’s mouth and nose. It made him want to wretch.

“Now you get to see what you get for being a bad boy,” he whispered through his mask. Then he backed up. In a louder voice he said: “Prepare to leave. Bind Potter. Kill the other two.”

Harry, Neville, and Mrs. Longbottom all gasped at the same time.

“Thou art an oath breaker,” a new voice said from behind a small copse of trees.


	12. Chapter 12

A great gale of a wind blew around Harry, Neville, Mrs. Longbottom, and the Dungeaters. As one, the group of Holdequart’s followers stepped backward as they raised their wands away from Harry to the new and more important danger. Moments later a dragon with whom Harry felt all too familiar landed a scant three meters away from where they stood. He once again caught the distinct smell of dragon.

“Thou art a base deceiver,” the dragon said to the lead Dungeater.

“Lord Pusztító,” Harry said and bowed to the dragon.

“You have no business here, dragon. This is none of your concern. Be gone,” the head Dungeater said in a less than confident manner.

“Dost thou dare and presume to instruct a dragon on what may be his business?” Lord Pusztító rhetorically asked in an almost shocked tone. Then the great beast took a menacing step forward.

The Dungeaters, save their leader who stood in front, huddled closer together while waving their wands in the general direction of the creature. Harry began to make a mental list of all the sins they committed when interacting with a dragon.

“We don’t have a quarrel with you. Our master is Lord…”

“I know of thy master, mortal, and it matters none to me. It is this little charade that induces my curiosity. Wherefore dost thou need so many against two boys and woman?”

“He isn’t who he seems, and you don’t need to get involved,” the Dungeater stated, and the hitches in his voice betrayed his fear.

“Ah, but this man-child and I have interacted in the past, as thou previously said. Thusly am I involved beforehand,” Lord Pusztító rumbled. “I question thee once more: what need dost thee have of these numbers against so few?”

As Harry listened, several questions popped into his head. It seemed a remarkable coincidence the dragon simply happened to be in the area. Secondly, he wondered, how could it hear what got said inside the bus when Harry struck the original deal with the Dungeaters? Finally, Harry could not imagine what business the dragon pursued in England that extended for months on end. It just did not add up in his mind. Conversely, he could feel the arrogance of the Dungeater opening a dangerous avenue in dealing so pertly with the dragon.

“We need the boy alive, and greater numbers means he’s probably won’t fight back and get killed,” the spokesman for the group stated.

“Which boy? Harry Potter or his lover?”

“Potter,” the man confirmed. “So, it really is him and you could see through the charm?”

The dragon rumbled in such a way it sounded like sardonic laughter. With his head less than a meter above and away from the head Dungeater, the effect it caused in the man visibly showed. Harry could well understand the visceral fear the nearness of a living dragon engendered in a person after experiencing it himself. Of course, he, himself, did all he could to accommodate and placate the fire-breathing, winged beast.

“Our master needs him,” the Holdequart follower restated and answered a question no one asked.

“For what purposes? Has not thy master already secured his mortal form yet again? Is he not once more spreading his brand of terror among thy kind? To what purpose, then, could he put this man-child?” Lord Pusztító forcefully pressed.

“That is our master’s business and we can’t speak for him.”

“Mayhap I should visit thy master and glean for myself his intent?”

It became quite clear the dragon did not intend it to be a friendly chat.

“Do not threaten Lord Holdequart, dragon! We outnumber you,” the head Dungeater declared.

“Ooh, bad move,” Harry said under his breath since the man’s word implied a counter-threat.

They all got treated to a rare display. The dragon laughed. Harry stared in amazement. He also saw two thin wisps of smoke issue one from each nostril of the winged beast. It did not take much to read it as an unfavorable sign. The dragon then advanced so fast it strained the eyes. His enormous head hovered just in front of the of lead Dungeater and the others behind him.

“I accept thy challenge, mortal,” Lord Pusztító growled.

“ASS-EN…” the Dungeater began to shout.

His words got silenced by a great blast of intense fire that engulfed the entire group of Dungeaters. A wave of heat washed over Harry and the others. Mrs. Longbottom screamed, but not as loudly as those who suddenly found themselves set instantly aflame. Fiery bodies began to run about, but not far. They started to drop to the ground uselessly flailing against the conflagration consuming them. The lead Dungeater lay in a motionless flaming heap on the ground. The burning bodies writhed on the ground and gradually became still. Neville ran to his grandmother and wrapped his arms around her. Harry simply stared in horror at the near immediate cessation of nine lives.

“Thou hast lost,” the dragon sneered at the dead body. Then it turned its head. “I see thou art freed from thy enchantment, Harry Potter.”

Harry dumbly nodded his head. The stench of burnt bodies began to fill the air. The dragon’s body wheeled around. It walked calmly toward him and crushed the cooked remains of the lead Dungeater under its left foot. The sound of breaking bones rippled toward him. Harry remained frozen in place. His mind immediately flicked back to the morning when he first confronted the dragon in the quarry pit at Snogwarts. Protective spells notwithstanding, nothing would stop the dragon if it chose to incinerate Harry that day. It became quite clear to him toying with dragons, especially a smart species like the Hungarian Horny-tail, would ultimately lead to self-destruction. The death of the Dungeaters reinforced the lesson.

“What… why… you’re here?” Harry muttered his fragmented question as he tried to take his eyes away from the roasted body.

“Thou hast never witnessed dragon fire used in combat?” Lord Pusztító inquired instead of answering the question.

“No,” Harry whispered, looked at the formidable creature and reverently added: “Lord Dragon.”

“I barely but exhaled,” the dragon said and sounded oddly satisfied.

The young wizard only nodded his head.

“So be it and to answer thy query, I flew high overhead when I saw thee and thy companions enter the metal sphinx-like box and proceed to travel onward. I thought nothing more of it until spying those who would and did waylay thee, Harry Potter, and took cover behind yon trees. I also am witness to the vow made to thee to free thy fellow mortals if thou willingly gave thyself to them. This thou did, and their oath did they break. Those mortals acted without honor,” the dragon said in serious tone.

“Um… thank you,” Harry said. Then his senses snapped into gear. “Lord Pusztító, I owe you more than just thanks. You saved my life. You saved the life of the one I love, and his grandmother. It’s a debt I can never really repay. So, Lord Pusztító, I free you from the vow you made to me back at Snogwarts.”

The dragon raised his head a bit and looked down at Harry. He, and Harry at last knew it as a he, appeared mildly surprised. Harry bowed as if to formally seal his promise. Then he moved half a step back so he could look into the eyes, or rather an eye, of the scaled creature.

“Thou art a strange one to me, man-child,” Lord Pusztító said in what amounted to a quiet and thoughtful voice. “Thou would sacrifice thyself to those cretins to keep safe these others. Then thou takes a challenge presented solely to me as the cause for thy deliverance when I had no such intent. To this thou offers the binding that keeps thee from my anger or mood or will. Why is this, Harry Potter? Explain thy actions.”

“You already said it, Lord Dragon: it’s about honor. Whether or not you meant to do it, you still saved me and Neville and Mrs. Longbottom. You and me talked about freedom before, so… while you never owed me anything for setting you free other than just not killing everyone that day, you still lived up to the vow in the maze. This really isn’t any different. You acted with honor just now in dealing with those Dungeaters, and I have to acknowledge it. All I can give you in return is your complete freedom from me. It would be… dishonorable if I didn’t,” Harry said, although he thought he made a mess of his explanation.

The dragon lowered its head so its eyes rested on the same plane as Harry’s. Harry saw the vertical yellow-gray irises reshape to refocus. The acrid odor of burning sulfur drifted through the air. Moments slid by. He could hear Mrs. Longbottom deeply breathing for a myriad reasons other than the fact a live, fire-breathing dragon conversed with him. Harry waited and did not blink.

“Most curious, man-child. Thrice now have I witnessed how thou acts in the face of doom and fear. Some might think thou foolishly gambles with thy life, but methinks that is in error,” Lord Pusztító said, and his breath washed over Harry reeking of brimstone and char. “Young though thou art, I sense troubles have assailed thee and tempered thy mettle.”

“Ah, thank you,” Harry said and tipped his head since he could not quite figure out what the dragon meant.

“As for thy offer, I accept, and it is gracious of thee.”

“It’s only fair, Lord Dragon.”

“Thou hast earned my kind opinion, Harry Potter. In this may I entreat with thee further?” Lord Pusztító inquired.

“Sure,” Harry replied and thought he understood.

“My task in these lands has not reached conclusion. Mayhap if needs be I seek to comprehend the actions and thoughts of thy kind, wouldst thou be agreeable to meet and have discourse with me?”

Harry instantly thought of what Newt Scamander told him and answered: “It would be my honor.”

He bowed. When he rose, he saw the dragon's lips curl into what amounted to a draconic smile. Harry held his composure.

“Thou art honest and without guile, but thou possesses a wily demeanor, man-child,” Lord Pusztító said and tipped his head a bit. “Until such time as we have necessity to reunite, I wish thee well, Harry Potter.”

The dragon rose onto its haunches and began to spread its wings.

“Lord Pusztító, can I ask you a question?” Harry quickly yelled.

“If thou must,” the dragon conceded and settled back onto the ground.

“Professor Scamander called you a word. It was ger… ger-something. What did it mean?”

“Ah, but the word thee seeks is Garhend.”

“Yes, that one. What does it mean?”

“It is an old word from when mortal kind first learned to usefully comport with dragons,” the dragon said and once again sounded thoughtful. “Rarely is it spoken outside the borders of my native land, and it brought no small surprise to me when thy compatriot used it.”

“So… it means… what, Lord Pusztító?” Harry dared ask a second time.

“Thou mayest liken it to that of prince, but it is a pale comparison. Think of it saying that I am of the line of the first egg of my particular kind.”

“So, you’re royalty?”

“’Tis a simple word, but not entirely inaccurate, mortal. Does this satisfy thy inquest?” Lord Pusztító, and his tone hinted he wished to end the conversation.

“It does, and my thanks, Garhend Pusztító,” Harry said and bowed his head.

“Wily indeed,” the dragon snickered.

With that Lord Pusztító launched himself into the air. Ash, dirt, and who knew what else got wildly thrown about. Harry used an arm to cover his face. When he looked up the dragon already began to turn into dot in the darkening sky. The speed of the creature astounded him. Harry turned. Both Neville and Mrs. Longbottom stared at him in the light of the setting sun. He shrugged his shoulders.

“Is your life like this all the time?” Mrs. Longbottom slung the question at him.

“Um, sometimes. Not a lot, but… it happens,” he replied and meandered a little in his response.

“Harry, that was brilliant!” Neville exclaimed.

Harry walked over to where the two appeared fastened to the ground.

“I know what you’re thinking, Mrs. Longbottom,” he began.

“You most certainly do not,” she corrected him. “I scarcely know what to think. I thought they were going to kill us!”

“They were going to kill you,” Harry rejoined and did not mince words. “The dragon saved us.”

His answer shocked the woman into silence.

“Mrs. Longbottom, this is the fight I was talking about this morning,” he carefully stated so as not to sound confrontational. “This is what they do. Without Lord Pusztító… you know how it would’ve ended.”

The older woman studied his face. Harry could still see the raw terror on hers, but a different light shown in her eyes. He felt he owed her some sort of comfort or understanding regarding his actions.

“I know you’re afraid for Neville’s life because we’re a couple,” he began with what he believed her most pressing issue. “And I don’t blame you. It makes sense because The Dork Lord is trying to kill me. He’ll murder anyone who’s on my side… or more like anyone who’s not on his side.”

Her lips began to tremble.

“But even if Neville didn’t know me, he’d still be in danger. So are you. So is everyone else,” Harry said and did not relent on his point. “Sooner or later Holdequart would go after him and you… and he’d kill you if you didn’t bow down to him.”

“I’ll never do that!” Neville gruffly intoned.

“Do you think those are the only options?” She asked, but not as damningly as he expected.

“Ultimately, yes.”

“Gran, Holdequart is mad. His goal is complete domination,” Neville said, and it did not lend her any comfort. “I’ve read what he was like the first time around. I listened to what you said. It’s not going to be any different now, and I think it’ll be worse.”

The three stood and regarded one another while the flames of the burning bodies slowly extinguished. The corpses began smoldering. The stink filled the air. It underscored their conversation in a weirdly appropriate fashion.

“You can’t keep him safe, can you?” Mrs. Longbottom finally asked one of the most salient questions.

“No. No one can. Not even you,” Harry plainly replied.

She looked to the side where a small clump of bodies smoked in the last light of an advancing twilight. She glanced at the ground where furrows got dug by the claws of the dragon. Her eyes traced the long, wide path of scorched grass from the flame of the beast.

“We can’t control any of this,” the woman mumbled.

“We can only control ourselves and what we do. My godfather told me that, and I really get it now,” he told her. “All I was trying to do on the bus was keep the Dungeaters from killing everyone. I was hoping they would just take me and leave you and Neville alone.”

“Don’t their actions prove anything to you, Gran?” Neville begged his grandmother.

“I’ve always know He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Fucked and his followers are terrible people. I get a reminder each time I go and visit my son… your father. I wanted to spare you the same fate, Neville,” Augusta Longbottom stated.

“The only way you can do that is by fighting against Holdequart and making sure he gets defeated this time, and I mean really defeated… maybe even buried two meters down,” Harry ground out the words of his deepest ambition.

Mrs. Longbottom scrutinized him for several long moments, and then asked: “Would you really have fought them to the death.”

“If I had to, yes, but that doesn’t mean I want to or that I want to die in the process,” he explained.

She eyed him as though he answered in too flippant a manner.

“Look, I never wanted any of this,” Harry dourly stated and turned to his boyfriend. “Neville, I love you. You know I love you, but I would give it up in a heartbeat to have all this shit with Holdequart disappear and we could have our mums and dads back. I would give us up so we could have normal lives.”

“So would I,” Neville said without hesitating.

They regarded one another. Neither felt stung by the admission of the other. It boiled down to a simple truth and a normal want. In this regard Harry and Neville shared a similar mindset because of what happened to them in their infancy. In many respects it united them in a way most could not comprehend.

“Mrs. Longbottom, I would give almost anything to never have to live through another situation like this ever again. I hate it. I hate the death. I hate the destruction. I hate that we’re the ones who have to fight this battle. It isn’t fair. But guess what?”

The woman shook her head a little to say she could not or would not hazard a guess. The crackle and hiss of roasted and roasting bodies played in the background. Harry wondered if anyone from their world would arrive before the muggle authorities. He could not begin to formulate how they would explain nine cooked people and enormous talon prints. Yet it also drove straight into the heart of what he thought.

“It might be unfair, but we don’t get to choose this time. It’s happening now. Holdequart has returned and it’s up to us to put an end to it, fair or not, whether we like it or not. It fell to us,” Harry said in a soft yet unyielding manner.

“We just watched a dragon kill nine people, Harry, in a truly horrific way. No child should ever have to see that. I shouldn’t have to see that! Do you have any idea what monumental forces are aligned against you? You, a fifteen-year old boy,” she challenged.

“Better than you can imagine,” he replied and did not need to think about. “You know this isn’t the first time for me, and you know what I faced in the tournament. Maybe Dumbledore was trying to train me for this fight.”

Neville snorted in disgust.

“You don’t plan to avoid or run away from this situation, do you, Harry?” Mrs. Longbottom asked in an oddly neutral tone.

“No. It will follow me, find me no matter what I do or where I go. I’d only get a life of fear if I tried to run away. Besides, isn’t it better to face problems head on?” Harry rejoined.

The woman blinked at him.

“Told he was brave, Gran,” Neville said to her.

“Dammit, Neville, stop saying that,” Harry rounded on his boyfriend. “This isn’t about being brave or courageous or whatever it is you think I’m doing! I’m scared shitless. I’ve told you that dozens of times!”

Neville appeared abashed. Harry walked up to him and took his hands. After few moments, Neville looked into his eyes. Light began to shine around their hands.

“I’m terrified, Neville, but I’m more afraid of what will happen if someone doesn’t fight back. I swear to you I wish it wasn’t me, but that choice got taken away from me a long time ago. This battle came to me. I didn’t go looking for it, but it’s here and I can’t walk away from it. It’ll stab me in the back if I do.”

“What do we do, then?” Neville asked him.

“We get others to fight with us. Your mum and dad, my mum and dad, they fought Holdequart. Others fought with them. We just need to find a way to do what they did… except maybe do it a little better,” he said and hoped his statement did not come across as offensive. “This war is here, Neville. It may not seem like it, but it’s already happening. I can feel it in my gut.”

“I will never stop calling you brave, Harry, no matter what you say. And I’ll fight along with you,” Neville said even though his words made Harry wince. “You know Hermione will be raring to go. Ron’ll stand with us. We can get Séamus and Dean in on it, too. Heck, everyone in Gryffindor will want to get involved. Most of Hufflepuff will join ‘cause of what happened to Ass Cleft. Ravenclaw might be a hard sell, but I think there’s a way to get them on board. It gives us a start.”

Harry beamed at his boyfriend. Neville’s words gave him hope. It offered a bright spot when it seemed the darkness might close in on him.

“Harry,” Mrs. Longbottom said in small voice.

He turned to look at her, and so did her grandson.

“I know I can’t stop you… either of you, but I beg you to be cautious. This is not a game, as you well know. Do not take on more than you can handle. Do not carelessly throw lives away,” the woman nearly begged.

“That’s the furthest thing from my mind, Mrs. Longbottom. I want to keep people alive… and the only way to do that is to make sure they’re ready. I don’t quite know yet how to do that, but we’ll figure out a way. Garhend Pusztító might’ve bought us some time if Holdequart thinks the Hungarian dragons are against him, so maybe we’ve got a chance to make real plans,” Harry thought aloud at the woman.

“I can help there,” Neville confidently told him.

“Who do you think I was talking about when I said we?”

“Boys…” Augusta Longbottom said.

She did not get to say anything further when a squadron of brooms flew overhead and voices stated yelling down at them. Moments later more people arrived via apparation. It seemed the people on the bus did manage to contact the Ministry of Magic. The irony they arrived when all the dirty work lay in the past did not go unnoticed. Groups of people converged on them with wands drawn and shouting orders.

The next span of time created chaotic memories in the heads of Harry, Neville, and Mrs. Longbottom. Too many people tried to ask them too many questions all at once. As a result, nobody got satisfactory answers. When the assistant deputy minister arrived and took charge, the investigation became more orderly. Dressed in neat suit with dark robes over it, he still acted very much like the other aurors. Harry got questioned by two aurors who took turns. The same went for Neville and his grandmother. They seemed especially interested in both the disguise charms and the dragon. Harry told them the truth and stuck to facts. Even when they asked for his opinion on how and why the assault took place, he did not venture a guess. Neither did he speculate on the reason Lord Pusztító happened to be in the area at the time. Within an hour the story got told several times.

“And this is all that’s left?” Ewan Montague, the assistant deputy minister, asked as the three witness got brought back together. “We might be able to identify them by teeth… or something.”

“It was definitely a dragon. You can still smell it,” a female auror said and waved a hand in front of her nose.

“Oh, I never doubted that,” Montague intoned. He angled his head to the side and glanced at the three survivors. “What I find hard to explain is why these three are still alive.”

“I told you: Lord Pusztító and me dealt with one another in the past, and he doesn’t like anyone who breaks a vow. The Dungeater, the crushed one, broke his word to me, and that’s when Lord Pusztító acted,” Harry petulantly stated.

“And it was the same dragon from the first challenge during the tournament at Snogwarts?”

“Yes!” Harry and Neville chimed together.

“Dragons do not leave people alive as a matter of course,” Auror Montague growled at them.

“Apparently you haven’t met all dragons. This one talked to Harry like they were friends. He even asked for Harry’s assistance in the future,” Augusta Longbottom said with all her former haughtiness.

Several aurors glanced at Harry, especially the two who interviewed him.

“He just wants to talk to me when he doesn’t understand human behavior. He knows me and I think he even trusts me a little,” Harry said in an attempt to downplay the request. While he spoke, he watched the aurors begin to bag the burned bodies. “Besides, I didn’t think it would be smart to tell a dragon no. Would you?”

He saw several eyebrows raise and Neville smirk. For all they experienced a traumatic event, his boyfriend appeared to be taking it well. Mrs. Longbottom continued to look disturbed, and her demeanor became increasingly brusque as she repeatedly got asked the same questions. More than one auror stopped dealing with her.

“All right and I’m just going to clarify one last time,” the assistant deputy minister said and scanned his small notebook. “You were coming back from a restaurant, Kellar’s Cellar – good choice by the way – when the Dungeaters forced the bus off the road. They forced their way into the bus and focused on Mister Potter who was in disguise. Mister Potter agreed to go with them if they did not harm anyone on the bus. They took Mrs. Longbottom and her grandson, Mister Longbottom, as hostages to ensure his cooperation. The bus left shortly afterward when the Dungeaters appeared to be only interested in Potter. They proceeded to ask you questions about events in the graveyard where Lord… The Dork Lord conjured a new body. Following that the leader instructed the followers to eliminate Mrs. Longbottom and Mister Longbottom. Is that correct?”

Three heads nodded.

“Good. Now, it’s at this point the dragon comes out from behind those trees – and we found talon marks back there – because, and I quote, the lead Dungeater was an oath breaker,” Auror Montague recited and looked the trio. They nodded again. “The dragon, one Lord Putzteetoo…”

“Pusztító,” Harry said the name correctly as far as he knew.

“That one. The dragon asked why He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Fucked sent nine people to collect one person. He and Lord… the dragon went back and forth. The Dungeater threatened the dragon when he thought the dragon threatened The Dork Lord, and then dragon took it as a challenge. Shortly thereafter the dragon set the entire group of Dungeaters on fire with an extended burst of flame. They died as a result. Then the dragon talked to Mister Potter regarding the situation, asked if they could speak again at some future date, and then left. We arrived while you three were trying to figure out what to do. Is that also correct?”

“In basic, yes,” Mrs. Longbottom stated.

“Yes,” Harry and Neville mumbled together.

“I don’t think we need to review why The Dork Lord is seeking out Mister Potter as that’s a pretty well established story,” Montague said to them. “But I do have ask why Mister Potter is not at home with his relatives. Any answers?”

“That would be my doing,” Mrs. Longbottom said and stepped up. “My Neville and Harry have adjacent birthdays. As we told you, they are very involved with one another. I thought it would be nice for both of the boys to celebrate together since they haven’t seen each other since the end of school. I made arrangements with Minister Fudgepacker, had the charms made, and spells placed on the house to hide Harry’s presence. We used the charms so both my grandson and Harry’s identities would be hid in public. They worked perfectly.”

“And the Dungeaters got to him by following you because they knew Mister Potter and Mister Longbottom are dating. What am I saying? It was on the front page of The Daily Profit for three days after the second challenge, and then again with that nasty business with the death of the Diggory boy,” the assistant deputy minister remarked.

“That… yes, that is correct. They found Harry because I didn’t disguise myself. I never thought of it,” the woman added and her sense of guilt showed in her tone.

“Most people wouldn’t, so don’t beat yourself up over it, ma’am,” the man bluntly told her. “Besides, you three survived and nine Dungeaters got turned into charcoal. I’d say that’s a win for our side.”

“So the fact Holdequart and his cronies are hunting people in open means what to you, then?” Neville suddenly piped up, sounded angry, and seemed to enjoy watching the aurors flinch at the name.

“Kid, you don’t think this is the first time this happened in the last few months, do you? Haven’t you been paying attention to the news?” Auror Montague rounded on him with counter-questions.

Neville looked a bit sheepish. The dark of night turned deeper around them. Several aurors went about the task of removing any evidence something untoward occurred in the field. Mostly they needed to eradicate all the dragon markings.

“It’s not a lot right now, but He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Fucked seems to have a list of targets. We were wondering when he was going to take a shot at Mister Potter. His home is under constant surveillance, and we think The Dork Lord knows this. It’s one of the reasons why he shouldn’t leave home,” the top auror at the scene explained.

“Minister Fudgepacker seemed to think we made more than adequate preparations for Harry’s visit to our home,” Mrs. Longbottom rejoined and reacted to what she thought might be a hidden slight.

The assistant deputy minister shook his head a little and replied: “The Minister is a politician and not a security specialist. Had you actually contacted our office and explained your plan, we might have seen the flaw.”

“Might have,” Harry sternly repeated the words.

The man shot him a hard look at the implication and stated: “And at least they didn’t get those charms. That sounds like some very powerful magic at work if it can disguise the whereabouts of an individual. We may need to conduct a further investigation about those. If they landed in Dungeater hands, who knows what they would do with them.”

“I did think ahead regarding that considering I was putting them in the hands of teenagers. The charms were set to expire at nine this evening. Only two pieces of jewelry would remain after that. The Dungeaters would end up with nothing of use,” Mrs. Longbottom curtly stated.

Harry and Neville exchanged disappointed expressions. Harry thought about putting the pendant to use in many ways when he returned to Little Whinging. However, it did not surprise him to hear Neville’s grandmother anticipated that possibility.

“Well, at least you covered that base,” Auror Montague said, yet it did not convey a compliment. He glanced at the three people of interest. “Alright, we’ve got enough information to begin our reports. We may contact you later for more details if we have questions.”

“I understand,” the older woman said while Harry and Neville bobbed their heads.

“Good. We’ll get you safe back to your homes…”

“We haven’t finished celebrating Harry’s birthday,” Mrs. Longbottom interjected. “There’s still some time left.”

“Lady, the celebration is done. The candles are out and the party is over,” the head auror said with a slight tip of his head toward the bagged Dungeater remains. “Potter is going back to Little Whinging with a security detail. You’ll also get one so they can check out your house and scan the area. You said the Dungeaters were watching your place, so we can’t be too careful. We’ll post some people for a couple of days and spread the word you’re on our surveillance list.”

Harry felt his face fall. Neville reflected his sentiment. When Mrs. Longbottom opened her mouth to argue, the assistant deputy minister fixed her with a stony glare. It became quite obvious the decision stood firm.

“You’ve still got a few minutes to say good-bye,” the man said in a gentler manner.

Mrs. Longbottom walked up to Harry, took each of his shoulders in hand, and said: “I am so sorry for my oversight and that it ruined everything.”

Harry pulled her into a tight embrace and held it without saying anything for a few moments.

“No, don’t apologize. You gave me the best gift ever, Mrs. Longbottom. I got to spend time with Neville, go places I never been to before, and… well, feel normal for almost two days. Don't say you’re sorry,” he told her as emotions began to ripple through him.

“Gifts. Harry! Your presents are still at the house!” She exclaimed in a quavering voice.

“Bring them to Snogwarts after the start of term,” Harry suggested. “Then we can finish up: you, me, and Neville.”

“I will. I will.”

Harry squeezed her again, and he received the same.

“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you,” Harry repeated the only words he could find to say.

“Be well, Harry, love,” Mrs. Longbottom told him. “Do take care of yourself for the last of summer and please remember to eat.”

“I will,” he responded, and his voice cracked.

She released him and turned away rather quickly. Harry did spy something sparkling on her cheeks. He thought her a complicated woman by any standard, but he could not deny she loved and took very good care of Neville regardless of any mistakes she made in the process. As he thought that, Neville filled his field of vision. He looked at the face, and his throat closed up tight. Neville held out his arms, and Harry sank into them.

“This sucks,” Neville croaked. “I don’t want you to go.”

Harry replied by holding even tighter onto his boyfriend. His body began to feel warm, and he the first glimmers of illumitus amoren began. He felt Neville lean his head down, and Harry leaned his back. Their lips met. Light all but exploded out from them. The sound of startled people did not register with either boy as they poured their emotions into their kiss and into one another. They held close and ignored the world around them. Both needed what short time got left to them. Harry felt much as he did when the Snogwarts Express reached King’s Crossing and he made his final farewells to Neville. It seemed they only got started before being forced apart. Tears edged out of his eyes.

Neville freed their mouths after what seemed a long period of time and whispered: “I love you so much, Harry.”

“Love… you,” Harry replied and could barely force the words through his constricted throat.

“Four weeks, Harry. Just a little more than four weeks and we’ll be back a school. The longest part is over.’

Harry nodded his head. He wanted to kiss his boyfriend some more, perhaps for a day or two without interruption, but he knew their time grew shorter by the second. He stared into Neville’s amazingly clear eyes.

“I saw who you really are today. It was… I don’t… it was… incredible. So… well, the word you don’t want to hear,” Neville said and grinned a little.

Harry smirked despite everything else he felt at the moment.

“And we’ll still get to see each other. We got the Wiz-Viz…”

“My pack!” Harry exclaimed in a hoarse voice. “My clothes and stuff are still at your house!”

He craned his head around and noticed the way most of the auror squad silently stared at them.

“What?” He shouted.

“It’s just… you’re so young,” a female auror, dressed in a style nearly identical to the rest, stated in a flat tone.

“Why aren’t you as surprised a bunch of Dungeaters tried to kill him tonight?” Neville growled at her.

“Because they’ve been trying to kill him since he was a baby,” the assistant deputy minister said as he walked up. “As impressive as it is to see you two can make love lights, we need to wrap this up before the muggles get curious and start poking around.”

“But you said we’ve got a few minutes,” Harry protested.

“Yeah, and it’s been almost most five, so finish up. We’ll have your belongings sent to your house, Mister Potter.”

Once more the Auror Montague’s tone said he would not brook any argument. Something about the man could become absolute steel. His demeanor privately impressed Harry. Without warning, Neville started kissing him again, and Harry quickly fell under the spell. For a second time they generated mumbled exclamations from others. Both of their bodies began to react to the surge of emotion and wants of many varieties. Harry wished someone would recognize what they would endure for the next several weeks and give them a few private hours. Even though his birthday remained in effect, he did not get his wish.

“Times up,” a different auror said and touched their shoulders. “SHIT!”

He jumped back and shook his hands. What appeared to be yellow lightning coruscated across his gloved hands. Smoked twirled upward from the leather. Several aurors raced over to him and gathered around Harry and Neville while dipping their hands into their jackets. In response to the sudden flurry of motion, the two teenagers separated. Their golden glow slowly died out. The energy swirling around the man’s hands also went out.

“It’s seems you’re not allowed to move them apart against their will,” Montague said in a serious voice. “We’ll need to report this to The Department of Weird Crap. Boys, let’s go.”

Harry and Neville remained speechless as they walked backward and stared at one another. Harry felt the tears spilling out of his eyes. A woman auror with dark skin and bushy bun at the base of her neck gently took Harry by the bicep of his left arm. He looked at her. She gave him a sad smile as if to say she understood.

“We can go by broom or you can side-apparate with me. Which do you prefer?” She gave him a choice.

“I… let’s just go. Apparate,” he told her.

The world folded in on itself and tied Harry into gut-wrenching knot while he got sucked through what felt like a crazy straw. Four seconds later he landed with a thud on the doorstep of 4 Privet Drive. The auror retained her hold on him until he found his equilibrium. With her other hand she touched her wand to the doorknob and said the magic word. It clicked open.

“It was an honor to meet you, Mister Potter. Happy birthday, sir,” she said to him.

“Don’t call me sir. Don’t call me Mister Potter. My name is Harry. I’m tired of titles,” he grumbled at her. “But thanks.”

She tipped her head at him, released his arm, and then disappeared with a hiss and a pop.


	13. Chapter 13

The humid, warm summer air that surround Privet Drive wrapped Harry in an uncomfortable blanket. He stared at the front door of the house struggling to find the willpower to enter. After two days with Neville and his grandmother, regardless of the tensions that arose at times and the attempt on his life, he found he did not want to face the degradation and humiliation his aunt, uncle, and cousin would foist on him every moment they laid eyes on one another. The irony Harry would rather face murderous Dungeaters rather than his relatives slipped by him. He missed Neville with his entire being, and that skewed his perceptions.

“All right, Harry, you can do this. Just open the door and walk in. Doesn’t matter what they say. Like Neville said: only four more weeks and then you get to go home,” Harry gave himself a pep talk.

Harry took three deep breaths, grabbed the doorknob, twisted it, and pushed it open. Seemingly normal sounds of a seemingly normal muggle family spilled outward and over him. He knew it would change the instant they either heard his voice or saw him. The inevitable could not be avoided, so he stepped in and closed the door with the intention of making noise. His ploy worked.

“Who is making that bloody racket?” Uncle Vernon called out from the sitting room.

“It’s me, Uncle Vernon,” Harry replied as he debated going to see the man or just heading up the stairs.

“You’re ten minutes early,” the man grumbled and shambled into the archway between the parlor and foyer. “If you caused any trouble…”

“No, Uncle Vernon, I did not cause any trouble,” Harry said through a sigh. His uncle glared at him. “A group of Dungeaters tried to kill me and that sort of ended things when the aurors – magic police – showed up. There was a dragon involved, and burned bodies, and… it just got out of control for a little bit.”

“Stop gibbering and saying such nonsense!”

“Yeah, and thanks for asking if I’m okay.”

“Why can’t you lead a normal life?” The man grumbled and made small fists with his pudgy hands in a display of ire.

Harry leaned against the door and stared at his uncle.

“What is it?” Uncle Vernon asked in a dangerous manner and glanced around. His walrus-like mustache twitched from side to side.

“I did live a normal life for a short while, at least what should’ve been normal for me if all this Holdequart stuff didn’t happen. It was nice. Nobody cared about who I was,” he answered in a wistful manner.

Uncle Vernon frowned and said: “Did they at least feed you?”

“Yes, they fed me,” Harry answered and let it sink in his uncle would never care about him as a person.

“Where’d you get those clothes?”

“They’re the same one I left with yesterday. Mrs. Longbottom altered them for me so they fit.”

“So… you’re not in any trouble?” The man asked a second time, apparently satisfied with the answer.

“No, I’m not in trouble,” the teenager replied with a touch of exasperation.

“All right, then. Get to your room and take care of that ruddy bird. It’s been squawking outside the window since this afternoon,” Uncle Vernon told him.

“Why didn’t you let her in?” Harry angrily demanded.

“Not my bleeding pet now, is it? You shouldn’t have one of those anyway. There’s got to be a law or something about keeping owls.”

Harry and his uncle waged a fierce stare down. After what he went through that afternoon, Harry felt ready for a good fight. After a minute Uncle Vernon blinked his beady eyes. He rumbled an incomprehensible series of sounds, but Harry thought he detected swearing. Then he heaved his corpulent form in an ungainly circle. Once facing in the right direction, Uncle Vernon stomped into the sitting room. Harry understood he just got dismissed. He carefully went up the stairs so as not to further agitate his uncle.

The first order of business came in opening the window for Hedwig. She flew in, sat on her cage, and chattered at him in an angry fashion. Owls normally did not make many sounds, but it became clear the bird did not appreciate being locked away from her sanctuary. Below in the parlor Uncle Vernon bellowed that Harry needed to silence the owl. He spent fifteen minutes calming and soothing his best feathered friend. When Hedwig stopped ruffling her feathers, she hopped over to his desk and stared out the window. Harry went to take a look.

“What are these?” Harry asked as he reached out onto the windowsill and began pulling in small packages.

After laying out the four wrapped items, one of which looked a bit greasy and stained, he began examining them. Harry immediately recognized both Hermione and Ron’s writing on labels. One contained a script he only recently began to decipher, and the forth incorrectly spelled his name. He started opening them beginning with the package from Ron.

“Cheers, mate. Hope you got to have some fun. - Ron,” he found inscribe on a little piece of cardboard inside the box. After unfolding the paper, a number of tiny tubes with wicks on them lay inside. The monograms of FW and GW got scrawled on each. Harry’s eyes lit up. He dumped out the box and counted seven items. On the bottom of the box came a warning not to use them indoors. He grinned.

“Wicked, Ron,” he said. “Wonder what they whipped up.”

Harry knew the question would not be answered until he could test the fireworks outside of the house. With a growing sense of excitement, he turned to Hermione’s package: far longer and rather slimmer than the one from Ron with wrapping expertly applied. One he peeled it away, a slender box coated in red corduroy paper awaited. He opened it. A strip of golden metal perhaps one millimeter thick rested on a velvet backing. A card sat at one end. Harry gave it a quick scan.

“It’s a bookmark, Harry. It will remember exactly the page and sentence where you stopped. You can use it in up to three books. I hope it helps with your studies. - Love, H.”

“This could be handy,” he said with appreciation and set it aside.

Next came the package he knew Diktor Kum sent. The cube felt oddly heavy in his hands. On the black paper in blocky silver lettering he read Gospodin Potter. A translation would have to wait as he carefully remove the wrapping. A plain brown cardboard box hid underneath. When he opened it, a silver snatch spread its wings, flew out of the box, and began to flutter around his room. Harry and Hedwig watched it with interest. Along with the snatch a folded piece of paper sat nestled. He pulled it out and opened it.

“Harry-  
From skeeter to skeeter, this snatch I catch in match against Avignon Pretenders. Foul go to match. She would not speak to me when we won. Made me think of you and I remember your birthday. I am hoping all is well with you my friend. We play English squad in September. Ron is coming. You come to. We talk and reunite.  
D Kum”

Harry looked up at the swooping snatch. His throat tightened to think someone as famous as Diktor would take time to remember so small a thing as his birthday. It separated well-wishers from true friends, and especially from his blood family. Before he got carried away thinking of those people, he reached for the fourth package. The orange paper sported a number of unusually thin fingerprints. He saw his name misspelled as Hairy in a wobbly script. Ideas popped into his head, but he cautiously ripped the paper from the box about the same length as the one from Hermione, but much thicker.

“Thanks, Dobby,” he said when he saw the words From Dobby scrawled on the top of the box.

Wrapped in a piece of newspaper he found an ever-clean spoon, a magical utensil that would never get dirty or spread germs. He smiled at the gift. It felt perfectly fitting coming from the freed house elf. He laid it next to the two other gifts while the fourth continued to fly around his room. They acted as a balm for his bruised spirit given the events of the day and his renewed separation from Neville.

“I love you guys,” he said to the objects as if they could transmit his words.

Harry stored the messages in his trunk in the one drawer he routinely kept tidy even if the interior got manky from time to time. He also placed the bookmark and spoon in it as well. The fireworks he hid in the back of his desk drawer until such time he felt he could slip away and ignite them. Harry knew the silver snatch would eventually tire and land to rest, but in the meanwhile he would let move about his room. The motions of the fappitch snatch would entertain Hedwig.

“See, Mrs. Longbottom? I did get gifts… from my real family,” he said to no one, but it satisfied him to say it nonetheless.

The usual pattern of living with the Dursleys began to reemerge. Harry wandered around his room. In a fit of growing boredom, and because he could hear Hermione berating him in the back his mind, he deigned to clean his living space. He sorted his clothing and started to think about the hand-me-downs. It took tremendous effort to refrain from putting on the clothing and using the spells Mrs. Longbottom taught him. Harry would need to wait until he returned to Snogwarts before he could tailor his clothing and make them presentable. However, they could do with a washing, so he made piles of appropriate colors. The he grabbed one of the stacks and headed downstairs for the kitchen.

“What are you doing now, boy?” Uncle Vernon yelled at him from the sitting room where he continued to watch the television.

“Just some wash. It’s starting to get a bit gamy, and Aunt Petunia uses the washer during the day,” Harry flatly informed his uncle.

“Be quick about it and make sure you close the door to keep the noise down!”

“Yes, Uncle Vernon.”

The illusion generated by the past day and a half quickly vanished as mundane tasks took center stage. Harry armed himself with trash bag before heading back to his room. Even though he did little other than long for Neville and mope during the preceding seven weeks, he still managed to generate some trash. Only the reasonable restriction of underage magic act kept him from translocating his garbage to under Dudley’s bed. On the return to his room, Harry really wished he could just magic away the mess.

Cleaning his room, especially Hedwig’s cage, managed to make the time pass. It surprised him when he looked at his wind-up clock and saw it read ten o’clock. A few minutes later the sound of the front door opened. His aunt and cousin entered while squabbling as usual. Dudley made unimportant and unnecessary demands while Aunt Petunia tried to find ways to placate him. Heavy footsteps on the stairs warned Harry of Dudley’s approach. He tried to ignore the sound.

“Where’d you get off to, cousin?” Dudley sneered from just outside the door.

Fear of what may lurk in Harry’s room kept the rotund teenager from entering. Harry also let slip from time to time he lost track of something with an awful sounding name, most often a title or word he invented on the spot, to reinforce the notion his room might be lethal. It also served to add an excuse to make him do his own laundry since Aunt Petunia would not step foot inside. Harry barely glanced at his fat cousin blocking most of the doorway.

“Spent the night at my boyfriend’s house. Went to a couple of restaurants, a zoo, and a museum. Met a dragon,” he said as though normal.

“Pfft,” Dudley hissed through his lips. “Boring. Mum took me out to Brighton. I got to swim and lay on the beach. We went through the Pier a couple of times. We spent the night in a hotel. We ate there, too. Bet it was loads better than… did you say a dragon?”

“Yeah, it saved me, Neville, and his grandmum from getting killed.”

“You’re so full of it, Harry!”

“Garhend Pusztító might still be flying around somewhere close by. I know he’s got good hearing. He might fly down if I call out to him,” Harry said and realized he likely told a bald-faced lie.

“MUM! Harry’s being queer again!” Dudley shouted, but he exposed his nervousness.

“Harry, knock it off!” His aunt shouted from down below.

Dudley looked smug.

“So, ah, what’d you see or, um, do in Brighton? Meet anyone special?” Harry asked the round face glaring at him.

He counted to three and watched the face turn from a pasty, sallow color to red. Over the years Brighton garnered a reputation as a haven for breeders and a place for them to meet and carry out their lewd acts. Harry found it rather telling Dudley chose to visit the locale, and he assumed his cousin bullied Aunt Petunia in taking him there. What surprised him came from the fact Dudley told him where he went. Of course, his cousin did not always use the best judgment. Harry lifted an eyebrow as he waited for Dudley to answer.

“See any… bodies there you might be interested in? Someone curvy with bumps up top?” Harry continued to pester Dudley when his cousin did not answer.

“Shut your mouth,” Dudley snarled. “Don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Brighton? Please, Dudley, we all know about Brighton… even witches and wizards. There’s only one reason why you’d want to go there, and I know your mum wouldn’t think to take you on her own.”

“Sod off, you weirdo!” His cousin shouted at him and stomped away.

Harry started a countdown in his head from thirty. When he reached eight, Aunt Petunia appeared like a wraith in his doorway. She looked furious.

“What did you say to my Duddy-kins?” She hissed the query at him like a snake, although snakes could not help the hissing being devoid of lips.

“He told me you took him to Brighton,” Harry calmly answered.

The color drained from his aunt’s face. He stared at her as ideas popped into his head, and not nice ones. Several lodged and would not be dismissed. Harry walked toward her.

“If you ever call me abnormal or a freak or strange… or any of those other insults, I will start telling Dudley’s friends what he is. I’ll let the neighbors know, too,” he told her. “I know you’ll try to blame it on me, but I can actually produce my boyfriend.”

“You rotten child! After all we’ve done…”

“You made me sleep in a closet instead of giving me a room,” he curtly interjected without raising his voice. “You make me slave and labor for you every day that I’m here. You try to cut me off from all the things that are important to me. You’re just counting the days ‘til you can throw me out, and I know it. Just stop pretending, okay?”

Aunt Petunia looked gobsmacked. She often worried about the day when Harry would begin to stand up to her and her family. It made her wonder what he encountered during his two days with weird old woman and her gawky grandson. Harry showed defiance and willfulness in the past, but this topped them all. He showed no signs of fear.

“And just what got into you? What did they fill your head with?” Aunt Petunia spat at him,

“Nine people tried to kill me tonight. Nine. How many people tried to kill Dudley?” He spit right back. The woman flinched and said nothing. “If I can stand up to them, and I did, then I can stand up to you. I’ve got enough problems without you making my life more miserable than it has to be. I’m sick of it, and I’m not taking it anymore. Do you understand me?”

“We could throw you out at any time. Do you know that?”

“Go ahead. I can think if three places I can go right now,’ Harry said and narrowed his eyes. “But you’ve threatened that before and never did it. I wonder why? Does my being here somehow protect you from Lord Holdequart? I’ve thought that before.”

Petunia Dursley’s mouth fell open. Harry watched her face. It did odd gymnastics as various thoughts apparently whipped through her mind. It took a few moments and a clear struggle, but Aunt Petunia managed to marshal herself.

“I made a promise to keep you housed ‘til you come of age, Harry Potter,” she snapped at him. “I am a woman of my word. If you want to leave, then go. I can’t stop you, but it may be the last thing you ever do!”

Something in her last statement put Harry on edge. He could feel a threat hidden in her words, but it did not stem entirely from her. His aunt seemed to be warning him about something other than herself. He waited for her to elaborate, but she only gave him a cold stare. He returned it.

“Right. Ever think if something happens to me it might happen to you, Uncle Vernon, and Dudley?” He answered a vague threat with a vague threat.

Her lips trembled.

“Look, we can either try to be friendly until its safe for me to go or we can make each other miserable. I really don’t care anymore, but things are going to change. I’m not going to put up with the way you’ve treated me for the last fourteen years,” Harry said in stern manner.

“Oh, and how exactly do you plan to enforce it?” Aunt Petunia grumbled at him while folding her arms across her measly, thin chest. She also stuck out her chin.

“Well, I happen to know a dragon who doesn’t take well to people who break their promises. I could invite him over every single day to keep an eye on things.”

Then Harry crossed his arms over his chest.

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“Try me,” he said. “And I’ll warn you right now I saw Lord Pusztító, that’s his name, roast nine people alive earlier today. He didn’t like the fact they broke a vow. It made him edgy. He’s been hanging around England for the last several months and took an interest in me. I’m sure he’d like to have a chat with you, Aunt Petunia.”

His aunt looked appalled. She looked him over several times as if seeing him for the first time. Harry held his ground. His aunt did not seem to take into account he never did anything to harm them. They lived in a world of imagined fear over what lay inside of him. It reminded him of how the wizarding world reacted to the name of Lord Holdequart, except they did have a reason to be afraid.

“Are you threatening me?” Petunia Dursley challenged him.

“No. Threatening people is pointless. I am promising you what my reaction will be if you don’t start treating me with a little respect and decency,” Harry replied.

His response seemed to make her nervous.

“Mrs. Longbottom didn’t even know me, Aunt Petunia, and she did more to celebrate my birthday that you ever did in the last fourteen years. She’s deathly afraid of what goes on around me because of Lord Holdequart, but she still tried to show me a good time. Why is it you and Uncle Vernon never did that, and you're my blood relations?”

Petunia tried to hide her reactions. The accusations of the witch from the day before still reverberated in her mind, and to hear Harry all but repeating them made her very uneasy. Like her son, her nephew began to explore his independence, and he possessed the power to do far more than Dudley. Aunt Petunia feared this day, among others, and it threw the entire near future in question.

“Isn’t it enough we took you in? Put a roof over your head? Fed you? Hmm?” Aunt Petunia asked as if insulted.

Harry threw his head back and began to laugh. Several seconds of his laughter passed before he lowered his head. No amusement reflected in the emerald eyes when he said: “They could’ve done that in an orphanage, and probably do a better job of it.”

“But they can’t…” and she halted. The crazy old man who delivered Harry to her doorstep along with a fierce, lean witch and a giant of a man warned Petunia about revealing why Harry needed to stay with the Dursleys. She bit her tongue and the rest of the statement.

Harry heard her withhold information. Over the past three years he gleaned the Dursleys acted out of a number of reasons, and they seemed frightened by most of them. Try as he might to weasel information out of his aunt, uncle, or cousin, they never slipped. In that moment Aunt Petunia came the closest she ever did to revealing an important piece. Harry ground his teeth when she caught herself.

“An orphanage cannot do what we can. That’s the simple truth whether you like it or not,” the woman rumbled at him. “Now I don’t know what got into you all of a sudden, but I will not tolerate this… insubordination. Do you understand me.”

“No.”

“You heard me.”

“I heard you, but I don’t understand. I won’t comply, either. I’m not going to be your workhorse any longer. I’m not going to be your whipping post. What you do to me, I’ll do to you. I promise you that at the very least,” Harry said, and his voice dropped to a low whisper.

“We know you can’t use magic outside of school, so your threat is empty,” she scoffed at him.

“Maybe, but the dragon is real,” Harry said and did not find it surprising she used that restriction on underage magic use. “And I also know witches and wizards who are of legal age to use magic. I think it’s high time I started inviting them over for a visit.”

“You are not allowed to have visitors!”

“Try and stop me.”

Silence reined between them. Harry continued to stand his ground, and Aunt Petunia remained as equally recalcitrant. Hedwig kept perfectly quiet as if the bird could sense the tension. A minute slid by as the standoff commenced.

“We will discuss this in the morning after breakfast,” she finally told him.

“What are you making?” He asked her.

“I expect you do your chores as required.”

“Or what?” He challenged.

Aunt Petunia narrowed her eyes. Harry felt himself losing the advantage. Until they actually saw the dragon, and Harry did not believe for one moment the beast would do him that simple favor, they believed they cornered him. His aunt’s posture said as much. Harry wrestled with his options, and then memories from his muggle education managed to surface and remind him other non-magical powers existed.

“Better yet, let’s contact the NSPCC and see what they think about the arrangements here,” he casually suggested.

Aunt Petunia looked positively shocked. Harry kept his face schooled into a neutral expression, although mentally he patted himself on the back. It took his aunt a few moments to collect herself. Harry decided another volley would be helpful.

“And I’m sure there’s a wizarding branch, so maybe I’ll contact them as well.”

A different kind of horror lit up in his aunt’s eyes. The restriction on his being able to use magic often put him at a disadvantage. The Dursleys knew it and often used it to their advantage. He chided himself for never considering the angle of getting a national charity involved. The Dursleys would quake in terror at being branded scofflaws and being forced to submit to an official investigation. Harry started to smile as he realized the power into which he tapped.

“We will talk in the morning,” she repeated, but said nothing about Harry being required to cook.

His aunt left his room, and Harry suspected she would corner Uncle Vernon into discussing everything he said. He slowly sank down to his bed. Exhaustion began to toy with him. Harry did not realize how much the incident with the Dungeaters took out of him. He lay back on his bed and stared at the ceiling. Harry never noticed when his eyes closed minutes later.

A popping sound and a thump made him to sit up. Sleepy confusion caused him to look around. In the middle of the bedroom floor lay his backpack. It took him a few moments to realize someone translocated it his room, and probably by one of the aurors since they could navigate around the spells he assumed they placed on the Dursley house. Harry looked at it, and then looked at his clock. Only twelve minutes since he last spied the time, but it felt like he slept an hour. He stood up.

Harry could hear a heated discussion rising up through the floorboards. He suspected Uncle Vernon reacted very poorly to what his brood-dam told him. Another mystery surrounded his uncle’s intense dislike of him. In a few respects Harry thought he should feel a bit grateful since it prepared him for the spleen and vitriol Professor Snape aimed at him on a regular basis. Harry did not care how his uncle would take the news as he reached for his backpack. He opened it and upended onto his bed.

The Wiz-Viz Tuner fell out and he breathed a sigh of relief. He saw a note taped to it. In Neville’s looping scrawl that tended to angle downward with each succeeding line he read two important statements:

“I love you, Harry. Ring me up every day.”

“I love you, too,” he whispered as he took the Wiz-Viz to his trunk and stored it in a drawer. The Dursleys never touched his school trunk for fear of what might come popping out of the magically altered luggage.

As he sorted through his clothing and toiletries, he spotted a blue, square envelop. On the front he saw his name written in beautiful penmanship. It definitely did not come from Neville’s hand. Only the tip of the back flap got sealed, and he made quick work of opening it. A simple card of heavy white stock slid out. On the face in even more fancy writing the words Happy Birthday sat alone. He opened.

On the rightmost inner face he read short, carefully inscribed message: ‘May your day bring you a wealth of pleasant memories. Sincerely, A. Longbottom.’ However, the innermost left panel contained a much longer message written by hand in very small lettering. He leaned his face closer to it in the hopes his glasses would aid him.

‘Dear Harry,

Few could anticipate the abrupt ending of the day. Between the Dungeaters and your dragon friend, it nearly overwhelmed us all. Truly a terrible event, even if memorable. I do so wish I planned more completely than I did.

You and your life are complex, Harry. There is no denying that. However, I see the courage with which you confront your trials. The events on the bus explained to me why Neville admires you so. Your composure and tenacity in the face of such danger is nearly unimaginable in one so young, and still I can also see why you, yourself, do not hold your actions in any high regard. It is simply who you are, my dear boy. You do as your instincts dictate, and they are good instincts.

I also will not deny that Neville’s love for you causes me concern. Yet I heard every word you spoke to me. Much of what you said rings true. For this reason, I accept that you and Neville found one another. I celebrate the love you share. Who knows how long it will last, but I will do my utmost to help safeguard it for Neville, and for you. May it bring you comfort and strength in times to come.

Until we meet at Snogwarts to complete your birthday observance, I wish you well for the rest of the summer break. Please, eat on a regular basis. You appeared awfully thin.

Yours,

Augusta Longbottom.’

Harry read and re-read the message several times. He could hear Mrs. Longbottom’s voice as he did. Moreover, he appreciated her honesty. While a few of lines did not sit entirely well with him, he valued her truthfulness. Harry also saw it as a major step forward. He scared her. Not him, personally, but rather the forces involved in his life. No one could fault the woman on that point. It scared him after all.

Once he stored the card with the other birthday messages he received, Harry put away his newly tailored clothing. As he finished organizing his room, he heard the argument below in the dining area grow louder. At one point Uncle Vernon shouted he would not allow Harry to threaten the family, even with make-believe creatures. Harry raised his eyebrows. He would ask Neville to do some research for him regarding the hearing range of dragons. The Dursleys needed to see the reality of his magical life firsthand in order to understand. The shouting level diminished, and Harry took stock of his room.

“It’s clean,” he said and sounded surprised.

Despite a twinge of nervousness, Harry grabbed the half-filled sack of trash and headed out of his room. He needed to dispose of the garbage and put his clothes in the dryer. His mind began to run multiple scenarios as to the reception he would receive when he entered the kitchen. By the time he got the to the bottom of the stairs and turned to go down the hall, he wondered if perhaps he pushed his luck a bit further than necessary. However, passing through the door into the kitchen stalled that thought.

“If you think for one moment you can jeopardize the safety of this family, you’re sadly mistaken, boy!” Uncle Vernon bellowed at him.

“Then treat me better,” Harry rejoined without raising his voice.

Uncle Vernon’s mustache fluttered from his heavy breathing. Harry ignored him and went to the small utility closest. He took a few moments to switch his laundry around and set the timer. Various images of Uncle Vernon’s face floated through his mind as he tried to imagine what visage he would see. He turned. Vernon Dursley glared at him. Harry walked through the kitchen, but not quite into the casual dining area. He calmly assessed his aunt and uncle from a distance.

“I know the Ministry of Magic placed spells around this house to protect it from Lord Holdequart,” Harry said and witnessed the reaction of his relatives. They hated any talk about magic. “Maybe you don’t realize I’m part of that protection. If the Dungeaters decide to attack, and I really think they will, you’ll need what I can do to help keep you alive.”

They looked both appalled and terrified at the idea.

Harry thought he might get a response. Silence lingered. He finally shrugged and continued: “You have to know by now I would never use magic against you, and not just because of the restriction rules. I’m not like that. Magic is… to wonderful to use it to hurt people with it on purpose.”

Again, his aunt and uncle did not say a word. They simply stared at him. Harry felt his ire spark.

“But the truth is I don’t have to use my abilities to protect you either,” he said.

“You cur,” Uncle Vernon sneered.

“Would you protect me?” Harry challenged.

“We’ve taken care of you, boy!”

“Not really. You’ve provided me Dudley’s old clothes, basic food, and a place to sleep, but care wasn’t part of that. I know that now, and I still don’t know why. I got to watch how Neville’s grandmother cares for him, and it loads different from what you do.”

“What did you expect when you got dumped in our laps when we had Dudley to worry about?” Aunt Petunia questioned him in a clipped manner.

“I can’t really say except I was a child who just lost his parents, whose whole life got turned upside down, and you never seemed concerned about that… or me,” he bluntly stated. “You lied to me about how my parents died and what I am…”

“To protect you!” Uncle Vernon shouted.

“I know you’re lying…”

“Out! Get out of this kitchen and go back to your room!” His uncle shouted at him while rising to his feet. “We still need to decide what to do with you. You’ve gone too far this time, boy. Too far, and I will not have it in this house!”

Harry knew any further talk would be pointless. He pivoted on one foot and left the kitchen. The door swung shut behind him, yet he could hear his aunt and uncle furiously whispering to one another. Despite all the threats that got tossed about, he did not think they would throw him out. Moreover, if the Dungeaters and Holdequart did attack the Dursley house, Harry knew he would rise in the defense of his aunt, uncle, and cousin. Regardless of the years of mistreatment they made him suffer, they still did not deserve to die at the hands of a madman.

The trudge through the hall, up the stairs, and into his room seemed to sap the last of his reserves. Harry closed the door to his room. He stripped out of his clothes, carefully setting them aside since they actually fit him, and put on a pair of pajama shorts. Although the house sported a good air conditioning system, the Dursleys tended to be frugal regarding its use. Then as he did every evening, he opened the windows and Hedwig’s cage. She hopped out and went to sill. The bird looked at her companion.

“Have a good night of hunting,” he told her. “I’ll be here to let you in in the morning. Just tap on the window like you normally do.”

The owl slowly blinked her huge eyes. Harry smiled at her. With that, she flung her body off the ledge while spreading her wings. Harry heard her flapping away into the night. Woe be to the rodent population, he thought to himself. Then he glanced out the window safe in the knowledge Hedwig could take care of herself for the most part. She would return both out of habit and because they shared a unique bond.

“Safe hunting, girl,” he quietly said, and then closed the window.

Once he extinguished the light, Harry flopped onto his bed. The ceiling disappeared into a hazy inkiness. It felt like a week since he last laid in the bed longing for Neville. The past thirty-six hours changed his demeanor. He would need time to think about all he discussed with Neville and Mrs. Longbottom, to digest what he saw at Newt Scamander’s animal sanctuary, and everything he discovered and learned at The Hekate Museum. He smiled as he recalled the moments spent in public with Neville by his side, holding his hand, as they explored their magical world. Coupled with the reading he wanted to do, and the fact he and Neville could communicate via the Wiz-Viz Tuner, it seemed enough to sustain him until he returned to Snogwarts.

“So that’s what life can be like,” Harry said to himself as he let his eyes close and slumber beckoned.


	14. EPILOGUE

The rumble came through the wall and penetrated Harry’s very flesh. He sat up. Darkness filled his room. A quick scan of his clock showed midnight lay a few minutes away. Harry wondered at the sensation that rippled through him. Perhaps, he thought, Uncle Vernon lurked outside of his room as he did several nights a week for the past two weeks since his birthday. He listened and heard nothing, so he lay down again.

The rumble, a bit louder, reverberated through the house and his body. This time Harry knew it did not stem from a fragment of a dream. It made him nervous for all he knew the house got protected by spells to keep Lord Holdequart at bay. However, Harry would not put it past the insane hermaphrodite to make some attempt. He reached under his pillow and grabbed his wand, and then slowly got out of bed. His senses strained to detect something more.

A sharp rapping sound came from the window and made Harry start. He tiptoed carefully to it. Hedwig normally stayed out all night unless it began to rain. Sometimes she even simply sat in the tree in the corner of the yard. Thus, with clear and warm weather laying over that part of England, Harry greatly doubted his owl returned early. He went to the window just as it rattled again. With caution born out of experience and necessity, Harry gingerly and slowly pulled at the edge of the drawn shade. He squinted. Then Harry nearly fell over from shock when an enormous yellow-gray eye stared at him from the other side of the windowpane. The rumble got issued for a third time.

“All right, all right,” Harry quietly told the dragon through the closed window. “I’ll be down in a second. Just don’t wake the neighbors… please… Lord Dragon.”

The great eye blinked.

Harry let the shade fall back into place. His bare feet helped disguise his movements. When he got to the door, he paused and listened. If Uncle Vernon did stand outside his room, he would make the floor squeak. Harry heard nothing. Years of practice at silently twisting the door handle and opening it allowed him to exit the room without making a sound. Harry learned long ago how to sneak down to the kitchen to get something to eat when the Dursleys sent him from the table before he got a chance to finish his meal. This time he sneaked down for a very different reason. It did not take him long to reach the kitchen and the door to back courtyard.

When Harry stepped through the door, he first thought it impossible for a dragon to occupy that much space in so tiny a plot of land without knocking down the fencing separating yards. However, Garhend Pusztító neatly coiled himself and folded his wings so he fit. It rather amazed Harry.

“Man-child,” the dragon said with a slight tip of its scaly head.

“Garhend Pusztító,” Harry replied and bowed.

“I am aware that for thy kind this hour of night importunes thee. Yet I am in need of an opinion regarding a matter over which thou mayest harbor insight.”

“I was only sleeping, Lord Dragon, but I am on summer holiday from school, so it’s not that big a deal,” Harry replied and tried to keep the thousand questions in his head from stampeding out all at the same instant. He stood on the edge of the small bricked patio that hosted the table and chairs where his aunt and uncle liked to dine on cooler evenings.

“Perhaps thou should sit as this may range into the darker hours,” Lord Pusztító enjoined him.

“Thanks.”

Harry sat. Dressed only in his pajama shorts, the warm night served him well. At the same time the dragon lowered its head so it could more or less look Harry in the eye. The human wondered exactly how long Lord Pusztító intended on speaking with him. Then that question got crowded out by a host of others.

“What dost thou know of this man called Fudgepacker?” The dragon asked in a blunt manner.

“He’s our Minister of Magic and runs the English wizarding government,” Harry stated.

“Yes, yes, but what dost thou know of him aside from whatever title the man bears?”

“Not a lot to be honest. He always seems kind of worried to me like he’s afraid people won’t like his decisions.”

“Is he a man of honor, then?” Lord Pusztító further inquired.

“I think so… at least for a politician,” Harry said and thought for a half a minute. “They don’t exactly lie, but they don’t exactly tell the truth, either. I think it has something to do with politics in general.”

The dragon snorted and lifted his head.

“Have you been talking to him?” Harry asked and slid down a little in his seat so he could look up at the beast without kinking his neck.

“With his representatives at the behest of Scamander. They seem intent on discerning the position of the dragons in regard to Holdequart. Seeing as thou hast dealt with the twisted one in the past, I wondered if thee ever parlayed with the Fudgepacker mortal,” the winged creature intoned.

“He took part in the tournament – the, ah, games where we met – a couple of times, but I never got to talk to him alone. Can’t say I know much about him, Garhend.”

The edge of the dragon’s mouth curled, and Harry could not figure out it what it meant. Then the enormous beast lowered his large noggin again. Harry felt under scrutiny.

“Dost thou trust Scamander?”

“Me? I guess I have to, but I don’t really know him to be honest. We only met that one time when you saw through my charm,” he stated.

“Which brings to mind: why did thou wear such an enchantment?” Lord Pusztító inquired.

“Because I wanted to be able to go places without people recognizing me or getting chased by Dungeaters,” Harry grumbled. “Fat lot of good that did me.”

“That fault layest not in the effect of the charm, Harry Potter, for it confounded my eyes for a moment,” the dragon plainly said. “Rather, methinks thine past plays more a role in thy discovery on that eve. It is known to those who care to know such things Holdequart doth seek thy head. Yet the cause remains obscure. What offense did thou offer the twisted one that he should move to end thee?”

“Well, my parents opposed him when he tried to take over the first time. They were part of a group called the Order of the Peacock. Holdequart tried to kill me as a baby. My boyfriend’s parents – Neville, the other guy who wore a disguising charm – they got tortured by the Dungeaters ‘til they went insane for the same reasons, I think. Other than that, I don’t know what I did to make him focus on me,” he related.

“Hmm, it begs me to consider what about thee, both as a babe and now as mere stripling, poses such a danger to the half-man he would hasten thy doom. Art thou possessed of a great power, one even I cannot uncover, thou shalt wield against this self-styled Lord Holdequart?”

“I wish I was,” Harry said after sorting through the odd syntax and the words. “I’d end this nonsense once and for good if I did. No, what you see is what I am. Not much, I wager, but I’ll fight Holdequart with all I’ve got!”

“Thou art not gifted with any larger sense of magic, any greater strength, or deeper knowledge than thy contemporaries that my eyes and ears can discern,” the dragon said as if puzzled. “Thou art in many ways just a simple mortal with the common gift of taping into the energies of the living world. This beguiles me, Harry Potter, for it would seem an easy matter for human as powerful as the twisted one to break thee and cease thy life.”

“Oh, gee, thanks, Lord Pusztító,” he replied with a bit more sarcasm than he intended.

“I offer thee no insult, mortal man-child,” the dragon lord rumbled at him. “I merely relay what I see and sense.”

“Sorry,” Harry mumbled.

“But thy plight troubles me for it does not auger well for this Holdequart that he makes an enemy of one so ordinary as thou.”

Harry wisely kept his mouth shut despite what he felt in the moment.

“He seeks treaties with the greater beings and beasts of this plane with assurances he will one day rule over all of mankind, both magical and not. Many accept his word, but my mother took caution from his statements, and it is the reason why I tarry in thy lands,” Lord Pusztító told him, and his lips rippled in amazing ways while forming words.

“Oh, so you’re on a, ah, what they call, I think, a diplomatic mission,” he ventured a guess.

“Only in a small part. My mother wishes to gather the intentions of those in this land as to their disposition and will toward the twisted one. It is my duty to observe and speak with those who can perhaps lend insight into his squabble. It was by the merest stroke of luck I managed to meet thee at thy school.”

“Luck?” Harry loudly barked in disbelief. “You call that luck? I didn’t think it was lucky for either of us!”

“And yet I am free and thou continues to live after thrice facing jeopardy in my presence,” the dragon said, yet did not raise its voice or seemed to take affront at Harry’s tone. “Whether fortuitous or foretold, our chance meeting serves both of us. Wouldst thou agree?”

Harry titled his head to the side and studied the demeanor of the dragon for a moment before he said: “Yeah, I guess it was. I kind of like you. You’re… interesting and you really helped me out of a tight spot.”

“Thy generosity of spirit blooms like a field in springtime,” Lord Pusztító said, and his sarcasm could not be missed.

“I didn’t mean it like that, Lord Dragon,” the boy wizard muttered. He then sat up straight in his chair and fixed the dragon with a steady gaze. “What I meant was you’ve been nice to me, and I do like you. I haven’t known any other dragons, to tell you the truth, and, well…”

A light suddenly beamed out of the kitchen windows. Lord Pusztító lowered his head and growled. The glass door-wall separating the casual dining area from the courtyard flew open. Harry whipped his head around just in time to see his Uncle Vernon stomping out of the doorway in a very agitated stated.

“What on earth are you doing out here, boy, and why in blazes are you making such loud sounds.” His uncle demanded as he moved forward.

“Uncle Vernon, please, you don’t…” Harry began to say.

“May I eat this one?” Lord Pusztító inquired and lifted his head upward to stare down on the advancing man. “I missed a meal yesterday, and this would hold me until the morning sun.”

A small squeak exited Uncle Vernon’s mouth. Then he fell backward in a dead faint. Harry turned back to the dragon.

“Better not,” he half-stated and half-begged. “It’d get the police involved and the aurors, and then I’d have to explain to everyone where he went. The muggle police would call me a loon and the aurors might lock me up for the same reason. It just wouldn’t work out well.”

“But that mortal looks so… juicy.”

“Uncle Vernon is fat, and I’m not sure he’d do your cholesterol levels any good,” Harry rejoined. “Do you eat a lot of people?”

“Sadly, no,” the dragon said. “As thou learned, I have not been long out of my valley, and I pursue something of a diplomatic mission as thee perceived. The consuming of mortals at this stage would vie against wise counsel. Yet if thou granted me leave to do so with this one, I cannot see how it would violate conventions.”

“Except people would think I killed him, and I’d pay the price for it. You’d have to come see me in a muggle jail or over in Bangabang.”

“Hmm, yes, and that would not bode well for thou if I read thy manner correctly.”

“Not at all,” Harry agreed.

Then both he and the dragon stared at the supine form of the obese man. Harry could see why the dragon lord would be interested in eating his uncle, yet Harry thought Uncle Vernon would make a distasteful, greasy meal for a variety of reasons. After half a minute, he walked over to the man and knelt down. He lightly slapped the fleshy cheeks to try and rouse him.

“Ah, Les, I had the most awful… oh, you!” Uncle Vernon said as he began to wake and went from frightful to furious in rapid order.

Harry ignored the shifting mood and assisted in getting his uncle into a sitting position. When complete, Uncle Vernon stared in pure panic at the dragon. The teenager’s head shifted back and forth between the man and the beast. He did not quite know who should wear the monster label.

“Um, Uncle Vernon, I’d like to introduce Lord Pusztító of the Hungarian Horny-tail dragons,” Harry said as calmly and politely as he could. “Lord Pusztító, my uncle, Vernon Dursley.”

“Thou art blood kin to this man-child?” The dragon inquired in a haughty fashion.

Uncle Vernon nodded his head.

“Then thou art spared my ire at this juncture. Thy nephew argued on thy behalf, and I will extend some courtesy to thee.”

Uncle Vernon nodded his head again.

“Is he struck dumb or simply an imbecile?” The dragon asked the boy.

“I beg your pardon!” Uncle Vernon snarled.

“Ah, imbecility!”

“Not really,” Harry interjected when he saw his uncle’s face turn flush at the dragon’s pronouncement. “He just never dealt with dragons before, and I don’t think he even believed you existed until just now.”

“Didst thou appraise him of the fact we made acquaintance with one another?” Lord Pusztító inquired and sounded rather put out.

“I did, but he still didn’t believe me. I guess he needed to see you to realize I told him the truth.”

Lord Pusztító’s head snaked forward until it seemed to fill Uncle Vernon’s vision. The complex aroma of the dragon wafted over both boy and man as the large yellow-gray eyes with the vertical irises scanned them. Light from the dining room lamp shining through the door-wall glinted off the multi-hued brown scales. The creature then retracted his lips as it sniffed and revealed a row of gray teeth each the length of Harry’s forearm. Uncle Vernon froze when he saw them. Harry garnered a new respect for what the dragon could do to a human. Flame, talons, and teeth would prove devastating to a person not armed with extremely potent magic or high-powered muggle weaponry. Harry felt his uncle start to shake in terror, and Harry could not blame the man.

“Trust thy senses, mortal: I am very real,” Lord Pusztító warbled in his surprisingly pleasant baritone voice.

Uncle Vernon simply sputtered. Words failed him. His walrus-like mustache waved forward as a result.

“Know this as well: thy nephew hast curried favor with me through directness and honesty. I know him as a mortal of honor and loyal to vows both spoken and otherwise. This is a rare trait amongst thy kind, and a wonder I should suspect for a man-child. Trust his word as thou would mine, man.”

Harry felt his mouth flop open as the potent words of the dragon's speech to Uncle Vernon sank into his brain.

“If thou doubts thy nephew again in the future, thou willst answer as well to me,” said Lord Pusztító in a firm voice as a light hint of unusual smoke drifted over them.

“I…” Uncle Vernon managed to say before his head lolled to one side.

“You might have scared him stupid,” Harry commented when he saw his uncle fainted yet again.

“But a short step for this one, methinks.”

Harry did not successfully suppress his chuckle. In the meantime, the dragon retracted his head while Harry laid his uncle down on the paving stones. He then stood and returned to his chair when he saw Lord Pusztító return to his former position. It seemed their conversation did not come to an end despite Uncle Vernon’s interference.

“Now, explain to me as thou dost understand the differences in temper between this Fudgepacker and Holdequart. I suspect there lay the crux of my decision,” Lord Pusztító imperiously requested.

“This may take a while, Lord Dragon,” Harry warned him.

“The night still holds before I must away ‘ere the dawn, Harry Potter.”

“Right,” the teenaged wizard said while he settled into his chair, Uncle Vernon nearly forgotten, and tried to think of what to say.

Original characters, setting, and plot © 2018 DOS; all other characters, settings, and certain plot points remain the property of J.K. Rowling.


End file.
